Fair Winds
by Kath McGill
Summary: Please read Tabhairt Isteach Do and "The Gathering in that order before reading this. Events unwind in Cabot cove that change the lives of the residents forever. A collection of stories that wrap up all the writings thus far.
1. Chapter 1

_**Yesterday's Hero**_

_**I don't own any of the MSW world. Tipper Henderson is used with permission. All other characters are mine. The following is a collection of stories that were written, and felt best that they were placed into this story group. Please read Tabhairt Isteach Do and  
>"The Gathering"Prior to reading Fair Winds! Thank you. <strong>_

_By Kath_

_3.11.10_

Tipper Henderson sat in the upright chair of the jury box and shifted uncomfortably. She had informed the Jury commissioner that as the town vet, she knew most everyone in town, by their pets, she was acquainted with the defendant, and the plaintiff, and she had heard details of the crime on the radio- the whole town had- it was asked of her, could she be impartial? Tipper sighed. Probably had been her answer along with 14 other people. She really- really didn't want to be spending her time in the court room- at the payment of 9 dollars a day- it meant shutting down her vet practice while she sat listening to people drama- something, the reason why she did so well with the pets that their drama was simple, they were sick, she made them better. People drama was emotionally exhausting, and she swore to herself, the next time she was picked that she would say no, hang them all.

She had heard the sheriff say that the case would be open and shut- they had the D. N. A. off of the murder weapon, though, the rest of it was the stuff tabloid drama was made from. 16 yr old Tiffany Barns had been raped, and strangled behind the Mini Mart next to the docks late Saturday evening. No one had heard anything. The body was discovered about midnight when the sheriff was making his rounds and saw her slumped next to the dumpster. Tipper knew that Harrison the Mini Mart owner locked up the Mini Mart about 8:30 every night before walking with his daughter to their home. He always placed the trash in the dumpster in the back , it was well lit from the harbor lights, and if she was there before that time they would have seen her.

The murder weapon had been a man's tie- a bright neon tie that had the 60's style Flower Power print all over it. There was only one such tie in their small town, and the owner was well known to everyone. Mr. Mitch Kelvin had worn that particular tie every Friday since his wife Flora had won it for him 15 years before at the fair. It was his relaxation tie, and with out fail, he would spill sauce on it from something requiring it to be cleaned on Saturday to be picked up on Monday. Flora's statement was that when she got to the cleaners on sat, it wasn't one of the things that she checked with them, and she thought she had left it at their home. She had made three stops that day, one to the library and the second one to deposit her paycheck in the bank that was located next to the school and then she stopped at the pharmacy to pick up her husbands glipizide for his diabeties. She had bundled the clothing in a pile on the front passenger seat and left the window down when she went in. Flora remembered that the school parking lot was full, and some of the over flow parking, as well as a bus for the team was in the pharmacy's parking lot.

Tipper knew Mitch and Flora had been having disagreements for the last few years, some over silly things, some over major things- the resounding theme was that Mitch just- didn't seem to think things through. but she also knew Mitch and Flora were good people and despite any disagreements they may have had, they were still very much in love with each other. Mitch just didn't seem to have it in him to harm any one and wouldn't even raise his voice over Flora's when they were having a disagreement. When the sheriff had announced that he was arresting Mitch for the murder and rape of Tiffany, Tipper had been shocked. Yes. She had heard many times, Still waters run deep- but this was different.

Edam Wallace got on the stand and glanced over at the jury before looking at the district attorney. Edam ran the Shady Lady Tavern two doors down from the Mini Mart. The Shady Lady Tavern had changed hands a few times, Edam had taken it from a sleazy dive to a family friendly place that had an eclectic collection of items on the wall from child hood toys to gears and fishing traps that hung in clusters. Every once in a while he would change the collection so that people would come in to see how he decorated. Sports had been the theme with an entire room devoted to the tools that were used in the games. He had made the decision to change it for the charity game- the states rugby team vs the student athletes. All sorts of wagers were placed on who would win, how many goals were to be made and for that weekend, business would boom.

His face was pale and his brow sweaty as he leaned to the mike.

"I don't know where to begin" he said at last.

"Just start by telling us what happened the night of the murder" the district attorney said gently. Edam nodded. In the 4 years that he had been owner of the Shady Lady Tavern, nothing like this had happened before.

"Right, well, it being payday, the tavern was pretty full, even more so because of the bus that broke down earlier – right after their charity match. It stranded them overnight and they were staying in our upper rooms. The whole rugby team was in the pool room having dinner and walking all over the tavern signing autographs for people. They kept the place going until we closed at midnight. I see Tiffany come in and it's a bit near nine when she does to get her take out order.

I tell her it will be a minute or so, and Mitch starts talking to her and I see him give her a hug like you give a kid you know- His hands were up on her shoulders and they just got close for a few seconds- that's all. I can't hear what they are saying but she seemed really excited. I go back in the kitchen to yell at the short order cook a while then I came out and I give Mitch his order and he went, and then I had to go back into the kitchen to get Tiffany's hers, and she pays me and then I got called into the kitchen again cause they kept having problems with the rugby team order and it's messing up the whole line of other peoples orders. The captain kept swatting the backsides of the waitresses and they didn't want to go near him , they said he was a crea…. "

"Do you recognize this?" the district attorney interrupted Edam as he held up the neon tie marked exhibit A. Edam nodded. "That's Mitch's tie, everyone knows that. But- he wasn't wearing it that night, he only wears it on Friday." The district attorney paused and looked at the tie, then placed it on the table.

"Can you tell me what happened two days later?" Edam began to wring his hands as he nodded. He took a breath then closed his eyes as if to blot out the memory.

"It was bad…Monday afternoon was when it all happened. Everyone was using the tavern as a meeting place to talk about what happened. The sheriff said that the D.N.A. results would be back by then, and every one was just – waiting. Bessie Clarks cell phone rang, her brother Jeramy works at the lab in Portland, and she yells out that the only D. N. A that was found at all belonged to Mitch. It, got ugly then- it was like a mob gone wild. Mr. Barns grabbed one of the baseball bats from the wall and started swinging it at Mitch. I know it connected a few times, and Flora was yelling for him to stop, and then she got behind the counter and grabbed my gun and just plugged Mr. Barn's in the shoulder, and then in the hip and she's yelling at him to stop hitting her husband. He wouldn't though, he was swinging for Mitch's head when she fired again and it got Mr. Barns in the right side of his chest.

Mr. Barns went down on his knees and dropped the bat. She held the gun ready to shoot any one else while she checked to be sure her husband was still alive. Mr. Barn's fully intended to kill Mitch for harming his daughter, but, that, wasn't… that …" Edam burst into tears. "Oh its been awful" he sobbed. "I keep hearing the gunshots and seeing the blood and Mitch's look of surprise when the blows of the bat fell, I can't get it out of my mind. Mitch wouldn't harm anyone. I haven't been able to open the tavern since then."

Lunch time came. Tipper chewed thoughtfully on the turkey club sandwich that had been brought in. There had been no drugs in Tiffany's system, though she had eaten, which meant time had passed since she left the Shady Lady Tavern- unless she ate it outside which was doubtful, her parents had said she had brought the meal back and they had eaten it together. So, what would have drawn her back to that area? There was something that nagged in the back of Tippers mind that troubled her. She gathered her rubbish and tossed it in the bin before heading to the elevator to go to the court room and spend time reflecting on the testimony. As she waited for the doors to close, the DA stepped in the elevator and punched the button for the court room.

She waited until the doors closed before blurting out in a soft voice "Yes, I know this could lead to a mistrial. At lunchtime I remembered some news story about a rugby team having problems – I can't remember exactly what it was, my gut tells me that the events are connected. You might want to put Edam back on the stand and get details of what his waitresses were saying…" She saw the DA. regard her. "Your basing this on.. exactly what.. Ms Henderson? Tipper straightened her spine to almost look him in the chin. " It's Dr. Henderson, DVM. Mitch is diabetic. Physical relations aren't something done – quickly for diabetics. Do the math." She said curtly before the doors opened up leaving the DA to stand there in silence.

Tipper strode out of the elevator to the lady's room. She had to lean against the wall as she shook like a leaf. What on earth had posessed her to blurt that out? When she had calmed herself she went and sat in the jury's waiting room with the others waiting for the jury balif to call them in. Tiffany's Barn's mother and father were angry, to be sure, and were holding Mitch accountable for their daughter, and Flora for shooting Mr. Barn's.

As the Sheriff had said, it was open and shut. Flora had shot Mr. Barns in front of witnesses, but, only in the defense of her husband who would have been beaten to death by Mr. Barns. While the gunshot wounds were serious, the beating Mitch had sustained from Mr. Barns was far more serious in nature. Healing for Mitch would take years of physical therapy, if the injurys healed at all. Flora had been informed by the public defender that she would not be able press counter charges against Mr. Barns for her husband's injurys as long as the charges against her husband were still in effect.

Glancing at her watch, Tipper realized that court should have began by then - was the DA asking for a mistrial? She caught her breath as the bailif came into the room and called for everyones attention. "The DA has asked for , and has been granted a continuance for the case until tomorrow morning at 8 am." She heard the usual 'don't discuss this etc' then her pager went off. All eyes were on her. " What? I'm a Dr. I *have * to keep it on," she said before looking down at the message. "Room 310, 10 min. DA."it said.

She swallowed, then gathered her things and joined the others in their going out. Many of them milled at the elevator, she paused seeing the crush of people and shrugged before ducking into the ladys room again. She allowed a good 5 min before going out again. The elevator, and the hall were empty. She took the elevator down three floors and knocked on the door before hearing "Enter" She saw the DA sitting at his computer, his fingers flying over the keys. He glanced up at her and nodded for her to close the door.

"Am I in trouble?" she blurted out. She watched the DA take a breath.

"No, But I am." He said at last. He saw her tilt his head. "I, like all of the town, except you, jumped to conclusions. I – didn't do the math." He sighed again. "I spoke with the sheriff, and he mentioned that I'd do well to listen to what you had to say because you have helped him in the past. That's the primary reason why I haven't pulled you from the jury pool, and, to be honest, we were hoping that you would have seen something that we overlooked.

I have asked the judge for the continuance because I would rather take the day to track down the information rather than explain why I had to toss you into a cell for contempt of court. You were right about talking to Edam.

I called Edam to the judges chambers and got more details regarding the rugby team captains actions with the waitresses, and, I did some research on the captain of the team - Jarrad McMasters - He's been accused of raping 6 women over the last 3 years, but always slid by on technical reasons. A couple of them were party girls, one of them, the last one and her case is still pending, went to the hospital and told them she was raped, and the hospital failed to notify the athoritys within the specific period of time- but they did do a rape kit on her. Because she is a minor, the results are classified until he would be formaly charged by the police for it, but they didn't see any reason to as the other 5 were dismissed"

"How can he keep getting away with it?" Tipper asked shocked. The DA sighed. "It isn't from lack of trying on our part." He sighed again. "We don't have any evidence besides his behavior that he even approched her. I find it more than cooincdental that where he played the game was at the schools field, and he was tossed early from the game for penaltys, about the same time that Flora had her car parked there… and, Tiffany was at that game as well.

Tipper regarded the DA for a moment as she chewed her bottom lip. "Did they find out what happened to the bus?" she asked curious. He nodded. "Darndest thing- a couple of the wires for the electrical system were burnt through- no sign of wear, just- like someone held a lighter to them. It's happened before."

"Let me guess- 6 other time's before?" asked Tipper. He shook his head. "4 times, and yes, it did corrispond with the reported rapes in the other citys. We – didn't catch it because no one was really mentioned by name- and well, honestly, rugby isn't one of the sports that we follow as it has little to do with lobster fishing. If the school hadn't invited them to come for the charity game… " he shook his head."

For a moment there was silence between them. "So, what happens now?" Tipper asked. "Flora did shoot Mr. Barns, but in defending her husband. The lab should have never released the information like they did- that- breaks every rule that a lab can do. Mr. Barns didn't have any right taking the law into his own hands"

"I know- I know." He said, then he regarded her longer "Do the other jury members feel this way?" he asked.

She shrugged. "pretty much." Tipper slumped for a moment, then, she straightened up.

"OHMYGOSH" she exclamed.

"What?"

"The security camera behind the Mini mart!" The DA shook his head.

"There isn't a security camera behind the Mini Mart, I asked Harrison" Tipper shook her head " Harrison doesn't own it" she said looking directly at him "It was put in by the dock steward because the kids were messing with the boats, it runs on a motion detector and the tapes are reviewed every week when the dock steward makes his rounds. He would be up north for the next two days, I am sure there would be something on the tape that can help us… the recorder is kept in the shed to the left of the mini mart…"

The DA regarded her. Tipper said it with such conviction that it caused him to blink a few times.

"Hmm. Guess we will have to check into that when he gets into town…" he said nodding. "You, young lady, should be getting back to your practice of being a vet. " He said pointing to the door. "I expect you do it very well." He said watching her nod.

Tipper couldn't sleep. She paced the floors of her bedroom then went down the steps to her kitchen where she made herself a cup of tea by the illumination of her street light. The news of the security camera footage to be recovered made the 5 o'clock news- she glanced at her watch. 2 am. It would be dawn in 2 and a half hours. If he was stupid, he would do something stupid…It was the best chance that Mitch had- that Flora had- that the Barn's had to come to terms with their daughters death. The whole east coast had been hanging on the edge of their seats- she knew that it would take time to drive from the city that

She could see docks and the bridge going over the bay to the other side from her upstairs window. The sheriff, the DA, and some others were stationed around- if this didn't work…

A round of gunfire caused her to jump. Hot tea sloshed on her hand as she grasped the window sill. It had come from the Mini Mart back lot. More gunfire coming up the street- what idiot would run up the street fireing a gun? Placing her mug on the side board Tipper went to the shelf- her fingers closed around the wooden barrol- She had only used it once on a person before. Cracking it open she fished for a handful and headed for her upper deck. She knew she was able to see the street line from there- though be unseen from her perch. She caught her breath as she studied the road, not seeing any movement- Why would he be coming this way? She thought to herself.

Because it was the way to the other side of the bay – over the hill was the small private docks where weekend fishermen hooked up their boats and didn't worry about them until the following week. If he had spent any time in the town, which the team had the whole afternoon and part of the morning to explore, he would know about it. To risk taking off in an open boat, with no lights at night though was suicide. There was another shot- followed by some down the hill. Tipper perched the gun on the rail and used the scope to search the area. She found him hiding behind a tree- unseen from those coming up the road, half of his body exposed to her view.

She pressed against the house so not to attract his attention. She saw him turn as her gun slipped a bit, scraping the wood. He had heard it, and didn't know what the sound was. He was panting, and his face wore the expression of the hunted. She saw him swing the gun around again as voices were coming up the hill, telling him to give up. She saw him take aim at the sheriff who had paused in the middle of the street. Late night chases were not in his job discription he would say later. This night was no exception.

Tipper gently squeezed the trigger sending the tranq dart into the young man's shoulder. She heard him snarl, and turn towards her. She cleared the cartridge and fired again, getting him in the hip. He wobbled as he pulled the trigger, falling to the ground. Tipper felt the bite of wood sting her hand as she rolled across the deck floor.

"OWWWCHAHW" she exclaimed picking the fragments from her hand. She could see that his bullet had impacted the wood post where she was leaning. A few more inches to the right and it would have impacted her. Looking up, she saw the young man laying prone on the road. The sheriff and the others hurried to him and rolled him over. Closing her eyes, Tipper hoped that some sense could be made from all this madness.

The soft brease floated across the bay and ruffled the napkin that held the blueberry bagel smothered with cream cheese Tipper was nibbling on. Across from her Harrison pulled up a chair as he deposited a plate with more fresh bagles and two mugs of steaming hot tea. The trial had ended a few days before and Tipper had flung herself into her work for as long as she could avoiding the questions that were being asked. When she went down to the Mini Mart to get her weekly grocerys, Harrison had suggest they take a walk down the docks to grab something to eat at the pastry shop- he was starved he said, and he knew she didn't eat as well as she should.

"My daughter thinks we should move, and find some place safer." He said quietly. "But, as I've told her, there aren't many places that we would find, better. There are good, and bad people everywhere." He paused. "Now, that its over, the case I mean- do you want to talk about it?- the jury decision I mean"

"One of her teachers said that Tiffany had made the honor roll, she was so excited she was telling everyone. I guess that's why she had hugged Mitch- and maybe was the reason why she caught that guys eye.- He said in his statement she agreed to meet with him after her parents went to bed. The lab, knew better. Because of them releasing the information out of turn, two people were injured. The phone records match, as well as the testimony of the people there. The only call that should have been made was to the sheriffs office, which, it wasn't until after the call to the emergency dispatcher was made. The company that owned the lab agreed, and, are taking care of things… well, they said they would. I think they just expected a few pills for nerves, not- not the injurys that Mitch suffered.

Of course they could argue that Mr. Barns inflicted the injurys,- but he wouldn't have had the reason if proticol had been followed. The rugby team owner is being pulled in on the costs as well, as they were aware of what he was doing and didn't take steps to prevent it. Hero, or not, the team owners have the responsibility to keep their members in check. They were able to identify his teeth marks on her hand- the bruises showed up post mortim. He was, learning from his mistakes, he knew not to leave DNA behind, or someone to identify him but he wasn't counting on a camera over his shoulder. Or one that we though was there."

"I don't blame Mr. Barns. If it was my daughter Molly…"

"You're a level headed guy Harrison… you wouldn't – do that. Not like what he did. You would look for the truth first…"

"And then?" he asked taking a bite of the bagel.

"Then- well.." she met his gaze. "This is a great neighborhood. Lots of friends, and support. " she said not breaking his gaze. Tipper watched as he spread more cream cheese on his bagel. She saw him finally give her a nod.

"We will keep Molly, and all the other children safe Harrison." She said softly. "We become their heros so that when they want to follow some one's example it's a good one." It was all that she could promise him, or herself.


	2. Chapter 2

Magpie

_-by Kath_

_3.28.10_

To meet a magpie on the road is a sign of bad luck;

two magpies for good luck; three for sorrow;

four for joy; five for a wedding; six for gold.

One magpie, expect sorrow, two means joy.

Three for a girl; four for a boy;

five for silver; six for gold;

seven for a secret never to be told;

eight for a wish; nine is a kiss;

ten is a bird you just can't miss.

One for sorrow, two for mirth,

Three for a wedding, four for a birth,

Five for silver, six for gold,

Seven for a secret not to be told.

Eight for heaven, nine for hell,

And ten for the devil's own self'

One for sorrow, Two for mirth,

Three for a wedding, Four for a birth.

Five for rich, Six for poor,

Seven for a witch - I can tell you no more.

One for sorrow, Two for joy

Three for a girl, Four for a boy

Five for silver, Six for gold

Seven for a secret never to be told.

Eight's a wish and Nine a kiss,

Ten's a bird you must not miss.

One's sorrow, two's mirth,

Three's a wedding, four's a birth,

Five's a christening, six a death,

Seven's heaven, eight is hell,

And nine's the devil his old self.

Jessica Fletcher leaned against the well worn leather cushions as she contemplated the menu in her hands. Lately everything had been fish, lobster, fish, crab.. she needed a change of pace from it and didn't have a clue as to what would taste good or be something Seth would approve of on the restrictive diet he had placed her on. This was a celebration though- Seth and she had taken a wager on the outcome of the spring Cabot Cove Lobster fishing competition and she had successfully predicted the outcome. Not only was Seth picking up the tab, he had said she could order any thing she wanted. Usually, from his nagging, it was healthy food. Gone was the clarified butter, gone were the heavenly pastries and even, alack and alas, he limited her creations of the brandied rhubarb pies

"Any idea of what you want Jess or should we send them back out for an afternoon catch?" her friend Seth Hazlet teased her. She glanced up and saw the waitress standing with her pad ready. They had sent her on twice already. Letting out a bit of air, Jess took a breath and pointed to a pressed sandwich made with turkey and bacon pressed with assiago cheese and smothered in a rich sauce that she'd been trying to reproduce from just smell alone. The sodium level in the meat alone would cause Seth to raise concern regarding her health and food choices- but this was different – "and I'd like the French Onion soup in a sourdough bread bowl, the baguette and a pot of hot Chai spiced tea- physical temperature, not chemical. For dessert, a slice of the molten triple chocolate cake.- with- your double fudge chocolate chunk ice cream on the side." Glancing up at Seth, She saw him about to say something, "Unless you want me to change my mind?" she asked him.

The waitress shot him a glance that spoke volumes.

"No no- its fine.." he said shaking his head. Far be it that Jessica would have smirked- though she was tempted. She had said the pressed sandwich looked good, and Seth had countered with that it contained the whole days supply of calories, fat, sodium and everything bad for her and suggested that she would enjoy the salad. Instead of meekly following his advice, she had shaken her head and said that she needed more time to read the menu when the waitress came around.

"But the salad…" he had said when the waitress had walked away.

"If I eat another salad, I'm going to sprout long ears and a fluffy tail…" she said piercing him with a stern gaze she had reserved for her most errant students. She had taken the time to read the menu three times, and decided the sandwich was the only thing that- well, looked good.

"So, how did you know that McMurphy was going to clench the title this year? Seth asked between bites. He had been keeping up a running conversation every time Jessica was going to take a bite of something he would ask a different question after she was just about to put the fork or spoon in her mouth.

Jessica regarded him over the spoon of soup. She placed it in her mouth, then a second one before she answered him. "Magic" she said finally.

Seth sputtered on the piece of brisket that he had placed in his mouth. She managed to get 4 spoons of the soup into her before he was finished chewing and swallowed before tilting his head to the side "Magic?" he asked curious. She simply nodded, took another spoon of the soup followed by a chunk of the tender bread that they had placed on the side – oh, homemade bread * was * heaven…

"Magic?" he repeated, hoping for an explanation. She swallowed, got another bite ready, and then smiled.

"With peanut butter." She saw him close his eyes, shake his head as he tried to follow her line of reasoning. A good part of the bread bowl was finished before he furrowed his brow.

"How on earth does Magic and peanut butter help him win the competition?"

Jessica raised her eyebrows. "Now Seth, if I told you that, you will tell the person your backing next year, and where will that leave McMurphy and his sister?"

Seth drew in a long breath and furrowed his brow. If anyone needed the prize money, it had been Brent McMurphy and his sister Margaret. His father had been lost at sea last season, the mother so despondent that she had faded within a week, slipping away so quickly that Seth didn't have time to realize she was dying from her grief. She had almost seemed relieved though, with his passing, and the murmur that her husband was having an affair with a woman the age of her son was one that people briefly mentioned out of her earshot, fading with her passing. There was no sense in the gossip. Brent was left with the care of his young sister Margaret- just 14, The child had developmental issues from a near fatal drowning at the age of 5. She had been placed into kindergarten and on a field trip to the zoo had become separated from the rest of the class. She was found inside the dolphin tank, one of the matriarch dolphins trying to keep the young child's body afloat. They were able to revive her, but, she had been under too long.

She never really did age mentally after that, and had been kept at home by her parents who chose to home school her as much as what she could learn. The state had insisted she be returned to the school system and Margaret had been placed briefly in the school by well meaning child service agents who failed to see that the school didn't have the staff to deal with her special needs. Margaret could focus on things as long as there wasn't a distraction.

If Seth was into pediatrics, he probably would have diagnosed her with a form of autism, however, the MRI had uncovered brain damage from a stroke suffered during her drowning. The state had been going back and forth on her care, wanting to place her in a facility for her care, but her parents had been adamant. While she had been entitled to disability payments, the state had stood firm, she would only receive the payments if she was placed in their institution. The law suit against the state, and the courts had kicked around the school for negligence for years on appeals. Her brother had employed a private care giver, but the money for his sisters care was extremely tight and the prize money would give him a chance to catch up on their bills.

The young woman moving into his house had at first lead to speculation, and suggested scandal. 15 Years before, a 21 yr old Brent had dated 17 yr old Amelia Davins who was sister to his best friend. He had asked her to marry him, and she had agreed, telling him that they would have to wait until she was finished with college. He agreed- but, events would change things, and quietly they went their separate ways.

Amelia went off to an internship for school right after graduation and shortly after in the fall Margaret was born into the McMurphy family while Brent's mother was away visiting her sister. It was only after many years that Brent had caught up with Amelia on one of the social networking sites- she had moved several states away and was happily married. Later, Brent made contact with a second high school friend Bessie who agreed to come stay with them to care for his sister. Bessie had received her degree in elementary education, and at one time, had been a teacher, but was now retired from the profession. She lived just a town over The two women had been as different as night and day and perhaps what was so surprising was when Bessie was younger, it was rumored that she would have done "Anything" to land Brent away from Amelia. Brent had told his friends about the renewed contact with Amelia, of her marriage and that he was happy for her, but since he mentioned that Bessie had moved in, that she hadn't resumed her contact with him. She would care for Margaret during the day, and he would care for his sister at night while Bessie would go home to tend to her home in the other part of town. She wasn't ready to give it up, she had told him- not without a promise of marriage which he hesitated to offer. There were rumors that she had an elderly gentleman friend that she was seen with, but, if there was truth to that, no one knew.

Jessica had learned of their plight just before the beginning of the season while getting her hair set at Loretta's beauty shop. Margaret had wandered by without her brother beside her, her head bent down searching the ground before her.

"Oh. There's Magpie again, must of slipped away from Bessie."

Jessica watched as Loretta placed her scissor down and went to the door.

"Where's Bessie, Magpie?" she asked the young girl as she guided her into the shop and sat her down. Sighing Loretta unwrapped a piece of candy and placed it in the girls' hands. Jessica saw bright sparkling blue eyes peak from under a mop of dark black straight hair that had a palm-sized patch of white on the side near the crown of her head. Dirty fingers turned the candy over a few times before it went into her mouth. With a practiced eye Jessica studied the young girl. She wore clean pressed jeans and a floral print shirt that was tailored to her waist. As she worked the candy in her mouth her hands dug into her pocket and she extracted something that she handed Loretta.

"Well mercy me! Where ever did you find this child? Margaret didn't answer. She only sighed and continued to work the candy in her mouth.

Jessica saw the other women crane their necks to see what had been placed in Loretta's hand. "What is it this time?" Jessica heard one of the women ask from under the hair dryer.

"It's a class ring- from the school, but- it looks old." Loretta poured a bit of the blue cleaning solution into one of the short containers and dropped the ring in it. The dirt and grime fell off as the others watched. She returned to Jessica and finished the last roller before pointing Jessica to one of the empty dryers.

"She's always getting away and finding stuff people lost- bright shiny things- maybe she heads here because of my candy dish" Loretta explained to Jessica. "That and her hair, people started calling her Magpie."

Loretta pulled the ring out of the solution and rinsed it off. Glancing inside she recognized the name engraved inside. "Well I'll be…" she said, then gave the ring back to Margaret who held it up to the window light, absorbed in the color and sparkle of the gold and gem.

"Who's is it?"

"Sadie Miller's son- Edgar- he died what, 9 years ago during the war? None of them left any more- I remember he had given the ring to his beau Chelsea Daven's daughter - and when they broke up it was two days before the prom because he was two timing her. Or three timing- he had a string of those rings one for each of the girls. She's married and moved on, so, finders keepers…"

It was a few minutes later that Mort came into the shop with a look of relief on his face. Margaret gave him a smile- the first that Jessica had seen from the child, and trustingly placed her hand into his. Later Mort filled Jessica in on the child's past, and what had occurred.

"Bessie put her in for a nap and had gone to answer the door- they have it posted for no soliciting but, there are some people who don't feel it applies to them- especially some churches that we don't even have in this neighborhood. They have been coming around fairly regularly to their place, and while she was telling them to go, it woke up her up and she wandered out the back door. Bessie ended up calling me because the person wouldn't leave and every time she closed the door another one would come and ring the bell. Said they were being trained to accept the rejection… Bessie saw her door open and started the search. She usually heads to the same place- Bessie takes her shopping every day so she knows the route pretty well.

"Do you think the church people are trying to case the neighborhood?" Jessica asked curiously. Mort gave her a serious look. "That thought had crossed my mind, so I ran a check on them, and their plates, the car is owned by the church, and they have no outstanding warrants in their name. They are citing religious freedom as their reason for disregarding the solicitation ordinance."

Jessica's thoughts returned to her dinner. She glanced up at Seth, almost guilty, being so lost in her thoughts, she had missed his last question. She was saved from answering by the arrival of the dessert. Seth's eyebrows shot up "Good Gracious woman, are you going to eat all of that?" he gasped.

"Yes." She said digging her spoon in the molten chocolate and scooped some of the chocolate ice cream at the same time. The waitress hovered- she was waiting for it- the sound of bliss that was made by every one who had ordered that dessert. It meant, if they did make the sound, that she would get a hefty tip for making the owner keep it on the menu. It being one of the oldest desserts to the restaurant, and an employee favorite.

The noise that issued from Jessica made Seth sit straight up in his chair and several of the patrons look over curiously. Almost orgasmic in nature it caused Seth to swallow and glance at the waitress. "Is she supposed to be making those sounds?" he asked softly. The girl grinned and nodded, then turned as several of the other patrons called for her to change their dessert order to what Jessica was having. When Jessica finally opened her eyes she saw that Seth was looking at her slack jaw with a trace of drool on the corner of his mouth. Finally he asked "Can I have a bite?" Jessica regarded him as her spoon dug in again. The waitress deposited the check and Seth shoved several bills into it to cover the tab, and the tip.

"Seth, your on a diet. Far be it for me to tempt you off of your chosen path…." She began. Seth picked up his spoon and snatched just an edge of the icing and molten center, brushing by the ice cream in passing. It was in his mouth before she could protest. She saw him breath as he swallowed taking in the full effect of the flavors. "Sweet Mercy!" he gasped. "Woman if they had your pie recipe…Do you think if I bribed them they would give me the recipe?" Seth wondered out loud, giving the waitress a bit more for the tip. He was estimating the calories in the cake and ice cream with each of the hurried bites that she took, she didn't want the cake to cool, or the ice cream to melt. She was scraping the plate when she happened to glance up - he saw her eyes look over his shoulder and a worried look come across her face. She rose , placing her napkin on her chair "Seth- its Margaret- something's wrong."

Turning in his chair he saw the young girl covered in mud and grime, her hair matted with seaweed and her fist clenched tightly. There was red splashed on her blouse and a frightened look in her eyes. As carefully as he could he rose and went to her- Bruises on her wrists showed she had been bound by something, and there were bruises on her neck and finger pressed bruises on her arm.

Seth sighed "Better call Mort" he said softly to the owner. Not knowing what had happened, Seth processed everything as if it was from a crime. It was a good two hours before he came out of the exam room and came to Mort and Jessica. "Except for the bruises, and a cracked rib, she's fine. The ones on her wrist are recent, the ones on her legs, and ankles are not, there is evidence of bruise on bruise, as if someone had been restraining her. Given her nature of wandering, I wouldn't be surprised if it was done nightly to keep her in the house."

"Why not just lock the doors?" asked Mort.

"She still gets out. Always has, but, she's always stayed in the yard. To my knowledge though, her parents never resorted to restraints, its one of the reasons why they didn't want her in the state facility." Answered Seth.

"And the blood?" Jessica asked.

Seth took a slow breath "As far as we can tell, it's probably her brother's. Any word from Andy?" he asked Mort.

Mort shook his head "No one at the house, or the Dock, and no sign of blood on the premises. No sign of the restraints ether, everything looked perfectly normal. Dishes done, dinner put away- just no one in the house, and no one reported her missing. They just vanished."

"Maybe the morning will yield more answers." Jessica said. Seth nodded and informed them that if there were any changes, he would let them know.

Dawn brought a rap tap tap to her door. "Coming" Jessica said wrapping her robe about her thin frame. Mort was waiting on the other side, looking as if he hadn't slept in two days.

"So, how did you know?" he asked Jessica

"Know what?" she asked a bit fuzzy as she went to the sink to get fresh water for the coffee.

"We found the tip of a mast in the harbor, it was McMurphy Sr's boat, and despite it being sunk, there were still area's of the inside of the cabin that had the same blood on them that was on Margaret's shirt, as well as a bed with the restraints on it. As far as we can tell, a couple of gunshots plugged holes in the hull, and it was untied and pushed off so that it would drift off to sea. Guess they didn't count on the tide coming in, not going out. Other thing that is odd is that the check for the prize was co signed, and cashed, but not by McMurphy.. it was brought into the bank yesterday by Bessie- and there is no trace of her, or McMurphy Jr. I've alerted the coast guard, and the state police, but- they didn't take a car, or the boat…The fish could have got them…" he said glumly.

While the coffee brewed, Jessica quickly showered and got ready for the day. She didn't like the thought of Margaret becoming a ward of the state, nor the thought that something had happened to Brent when things seemed to go his way at last.

Once dressed, Jessica road with Mort down to the docks and walked to where the boat was set upon a trailer.

Andy came up to him holding several slugs taken from the inside of the boat. "No doubt about it Sheriff, these slugs are from a gun with a silencer- no one would have heard the shots- and that bed in the forward cabin looks like the restraints have been used more than a few times- with their worn marks. One looks like the restraint was slipped out of the other ones were undone." Andy's face was grim. "Think someone tried to sink Magpie with the boat?" Mort glanced at Jessica "Maybe." He said "But we won't know for sure unless we get to the bottom of this"

"What will happen to Margaret?" Jessica asked Mort. She watched him sigh, then shrug. "The courts will step in, and try to take over her care. I can't say. She has no other family except her brother- Was almost hoping that her brother would have settled down with Bessie- Some—stability in her life. Sure wish she could tell us what happened." He said thoughtfully.

After reviewing the evidence that the boat could yield Mort held open the passenger side door for Jessica and drove them to the hospital. They found Margaret sitting up in bed twisting her fingers together while looking at the shiny coins some one had placed on the bed covers.

Seth was there checking the bruises on her ankles when they entered. Holding up a finger, he motioned for them to follow him outside.

"I ran further tests, on the blood we found on her- and, found something interesting… the blood on her, was not, from Brent, rather, his father"

"What? Wait, his father? Not- hers?" asked Mort who was catching on to the way that Seth thought.

Seth dropped his voice so that only Jessica and Mort could hear him

"We did run blood test, and while, there is a paternal familiarity, McMurphy Sr, is more likely the grandfather to this child, and not the father. Which would leave her to be Brent's daughter. I've gone over Mrs. McMurphy's record, while she wasn't too old to have children, there was no notation for any prenatal, or postnatal care during the pregnancy. 21 years between pregnancy's would be difficult even at best. Ether she didn't recognize the symptoms, or, the child wasn't hers. She came back with the baby after a long visit with her sister who lived out of state. Who knows?

"But McMurphy Sr. was supposed to have died at sea last season, what is he doing showing up now, and where is he?" Asked Mort

"With the amount of blood that was found in the cabin Mort, it's doubtful he is still alive."

"So, we have nothing" breathed Mort. Jessica regarded Margaret from over her shoulder. "Perhaps, we do have something Mort. Apparently, someone was trying to kill Margaret because she saw something- someone that small, with the fishes would be – gone- fairly quickly. Perhaps, they were trying to cover their tracks… and I think, we can find answers if we go back far enough… How do you feel about a road trip?" Mort blinked twice.

"I know that look Mrs. F. Ok. Doc, keep an eye on our little Magpie, and we will be back as soon as we can. Don't let any one remove her from this hospital, she's being held here as a – a material witness."

The drive was longer than Mort expected, taking them two states away. The house was a tidy post war construction, on a flat slab that had ramps going up to the doors and rails everywhere. Getting no answer at the front door when they knocked, Mort and Jessica made their way around the back of the house to find the owner sitting in a recliner, a pitcher of ice tea at her elbow. She was a tall thin woman with a heart shaped face and straight long black hair, with sparkling blue eyes. Jessica noticed the quad cane tucked to the one side, and the well worn smooth spots from a leg brace that was leaning against the house.

"Mrs. Piffer? I'm Sheriff Metzger from Cabot Cove, this is Mrs. Fletcher. Would you be willing to answer some questions for us?"

"Depends." She said stretching slightly then she sighed "What did you want to ask?"

"Recently you were contacted by Brent McMurphy, have you heard from him in the last few days?

Amelia shook her head, "No, the last I heard from him he had run into Bessie out of the blue, and decided to hire her on as a caretaker for Margaret. I had sent him a response that night, but, for some reason I received a message back saying his ISP didn't like mine and I was blocked. That was a couple of months ago. What's going on?" she asked , concern in her voice.

"He and Bessie seem to be missing," said Jessica gently. Amelia sat up on the chair. "Is Margaret alright?"

Jessica looked at Mort, then back to Amelia "Your daughter is alright, Dr. Hazlett is taking care of her for now."

Mort sat down on one of the nearby chairs "Can you tell us what happened?"

"What? That I was 17 straight A's with a full scholarship to college and I went to a Christmas party and was given a drink by the man who said he loved me and the next thing I remember is waking up in the backseat of his car with a bloody hangover- and discovering I was pregnant 2 months later with couple months of school left? I took on an internship and went, and had the baby, and his mother came and got it. Said, he would be responsible, and raise her. I had my whole life ahead of me, she said.

I went to school, did straight A's again. Had a job in Cabot Cove's Joshua' Peabody's Kindergarten already lines up in the year Margaret would have been there- then, this happened… Went out with a classmate - Bessandra Moore right after graduation, and – she said the car jumped the curb outside the pub and hit me- and that was it- I woke up a month later with pins in my hip and told my job had gone to my classmate." She slapped the chair.

"Even with all of this, and, knowing about Margaret, my husband that I met in school still married me. Bessandra said it was because of my inheritance from my grandfather, but- my money is in trust, he wouldn't inherit a penny and he's got his own money-. My past- didn't matter. We'd talked about getting Margaret in our custody, but, his mother was adamant about her staying with them."

Mort glanced at Jessica again. "Where is your husband now?" he asked gently.

"At a job site in Alabama, he won't be home for a month. He is an engineer on a bridge construction for the railroad- why do you ask?"

Jessica spoke up "I will help you pack a bag, your not staying here… it isn't safe."

"Safe from what?" she asked curiously.

"Amelia, if something, would happen to you, where would the money go?"

asked Jessica.

She shrugged. "I guess the state would see that Margaret would get it, why?" Jessica looked at Mort. "I believe I know who is behind this, and I think I can prove it…" she said sadly.

The room was lit by just the street lamp along the curb as the night wore on. Jessica sat in the dark watching the coming and goings of the road outside, waiting. She knew that the person responsible for all of this wouldn't arrive until dark, and it saddened her.

The floor board creaked softly in the hallway. So many times Jessica had put herself in this place to catch a murderer- this one, though was far more terrifying. There was no reason behind the acts, not that Jessica could have seen at first- but it made sense now. There was the creak of the door as it slid open, and then the footfalls came into the bedroom – to the bed where a mound lay beneath the blankets, dark hair spilling over the pillow. A hand raised, then , several bright flashes from the gun being discharged with a silencer. The person sighed, then, was curious.

"There should be blood" a female voice said.

"If Amelia was in that bed, there would be…" Jessica said softly. The person turned, the gun facing Jessica.

"It's over Bessie," she said softly. "We know all about it.

Bessandra hissed in anger. "You know nothing." She said, her finger closing around the trigger.

There was a definitive click of a gun being cocked right behind Bessie, who froze .

"She knows that I'm standing right behind her and that I won't hesitate." Said Mort. Bessie lowered the gun then dropped it.

Mort sighed, took his cuffs and began to recite the Miranda rights to her as he cuffed her from behind.

"We know, that you were responsible for Amelia's accident for starters. At least 2 attempted murders against her as well."

"Four, actual, Mort, When Amelia said that her classmate Bessandra took over the job at Joshua Peabody Kindergarten, I did some checking, You were the student teacher who had traveled with the children to the zoo, and you were the one who tried to drown Margaret… You also were the one who restrained Margaret on the boat while you killed her grandfather then tried to sink it off shore, you didn't count on the tide coming in, though. You thought she would have drown, but she managed to escape, and make it to shore. We have your prints on the boat- something that couldn't have happened because the boat, and Brent's father were presumed lost at sea before you were hired on. What we don't know is why you did this?"

Bessie looked at Jessica. "He was mine. I knew that if she would have come back to Cabot Cove, he would forget me and marry her. I saw that Magpie of hers and knew that it had to be her daughter- and if he knew , that would be all the more reason. It was easy to get his father in my confidence-"she laughed. "Soo easy. The old fool said there was a lot of money that they were coming into. He told me that when we were in high school and that he was tired of his wife. He wanted something different than a whiny grand child that would get everything. " she snorted "All it took was some flattery and he believed everything I said… She saw me kissing him at the zoo- I told her I was showing her something special, she fell in…" Bessie shrugged. "Could I help it if she couldn't swim?" She looked back at Mort. "Men are all the same… weak spineless idiots who can't think beyond what they want for dinner. – Even Amelia's husband!" she chortled. "He liked what he saw in me…" she said with a throaty chuckle.

"Still doesn't explain why though, Bessandra," said Mort.

"Haven't you been listening Mort? She wanted what Amelia had just because it was something that Bessandra couldn't have. Were you the one who spiked her drink when she was 17?"

Bessandra snorted. "That was all her lover boy's doing. He didn't want to wait until she was out of school. He just didn't count on his mother wanting to do the right thing by him. Course, she knew about the money that Magpie was going to get if Amelia died. She just didn't count on her husband wanting a younger model."

Mort shook his head then took Bessandra out to where the local police waited to take her away.

Jessica sat in the booth contemplating her cup of coffee. So many lives had been ruined by greed. They had found McMurphy Sr's body, what was left of it, washed up on the shore two towns away. She had dumped him at sea, killing him in front of Margaret, and then using his boat to ride back to Cabot Cove, abandoning it as it sank hoping that it would take Margaret out to sea with the tide. She hadn't counted on the tide coming in. She had been having an affair for years with Brent's father, on and off since after high school. Once the accident happened to Margaret, McMurphy Sr knew she was a dangerous character and took steps to be sure she would retire- most of the money he made from lobstering went to pay her to retire, and stay away, though he couldn't bear to be with out her. When he came back to her, she took steps to confine him to his boat, keeping it hidden amid all the other boats in dry-dock.

She confessed as well to the poisoning of Mrs. McMurphy. It was a simple plan, get everyone who might raise any objection out of the way. Once she thought she had killed Margaret and she had Brent in captivity until he agreed to marry her, then the only last step would be to kill off Amelia. Her husband was away, when he returned, there would be no trace of her killer.

There was a scrape of chairs at her booth, looking up she saw Seth and Mort both holding a plate of molten chocolate cake and double fudge ice cream, and one for her.

"Margaret is going to be released from the hospital today, its been decided that Amelia and her husband are going to get custody of her. " Mort said sliding the cake in front of her. "Seems the court took a dim view of exactly how she came to be- and Brent isn't able to give her proper care. He still will have visitation rights, but, his feelings for her have changed a bit now that he knows what really happened… So, tell me Mrs. F, exactly how did he win the Lobstering competition? Doc here tells me that you told him it was due to magic and Peanut butter."

Jessica took a spoonful of the cake.

"Mort, taste the cake," she said, pointing at it. It took a full minitue for him to open his mouth again.

"Oh is that good."

Jessica grinned. "There in lies the secret of the Magic." She said

Seth looked at her. "Your saying the lobsters preferred peanut butter over the regular bait and that's how he got more?" she shook her head.

"No, but the regular bait he used preferred the peanut butter. More and better bait meant better lobsters to be trapped." She took a bite of her cake.

"Just like this cake. With out this signature cake, where do you think this place would be?"

"I'll eat to that," said Seth taking a bite of the cake.

"What about your diet, Seth?" she asked pointing to his middle.

"What about yours?" he retorted. Mort grinned.

"Somethings are worth every bite," he said, taking another bite. "And this is one of them.

The end


	3. Chapter 3

_**Beauty to Die for**_

By Kath. © Sept 2010

_Murder She Wrote, Jessica, Mort and the rest of the Cabot Cove gang are owned by Universal- The character of Tipper Henderson is owned by Anne, and used with permission. All other characters found in the story are my creation. The song "Somebody to Love" was written and preformed by Queen and the song "I feel Pretty" is from West Side Story_

The early summer breeze whisked briskly across the harbor and swirled around the small tables in front of Ye Ole Mini Mart. Tipper had elected to sit outside with her breakfast - it was the first day that it wasn't raining or snowing, and she was going to make the most of enjoying the sunshine. A scrape of a chair beside her caused her to glance in its direction. Harrison, the Mart's owner, paused. "May we join you?" he asked.

Tipper nodded, seeing Mort hover behind Harrison with a coffee and bagel on a small plate. Popping a piece of toast in her mouth she nodded. "What's up?" she asked, still chewing.

The two men exchanged glances.

"It's Molly," Harrison began, referring to his daughter. "You know how she goes off on tangents? Well, she's started a new one saying she remembered something that Ian said just before he stabbed that young boy last fall. With my recovery taking so long, and then getting through the winter, it sort of slipped her mind."

Tipper waited while he took a sip of coffee and continued. "I don't remember much about that day - I mean, I remember the kids being here, and doing laundry, but not much else than that."

"What is she saying?" asked Tipper with interest.

"That he found it. Whatever 'it' is, or was."

Tipper blinked a few times then took a delaying sip of her hot coffee. She could have said, "No idea." But it wasn't true. She had a pretty fair idea, but it might lead to more than what she wanted to tell anyone. Her eyes wandered to the building that now held the museum of healing arts, Willie's legacy to the town, once known as the Nightshade headquarters. There had been a bad bit with gun smuggling a while back - it had been how Harrison had been shot, why Willie had gone into hiding, and how Taylor and the others moved back to her grandfather's home to be safe from the outside world. She took a breath then let it out slowly. The rebuilding of the building had taken about a month. Now that summer was on its way, and Tipper knew Molly's restlessness would cause the child to explore more than she had before.

"Harrison - I have a pretty fair idea what she was looking for, but are some things that are better left in the past. If you must know, Ian had become a bit mouthy with George, and he knew he was going to be punished for what he said, so he went to the shop to think. He told me Molly had come to the shop looking for pirate treasure and secret rooms, and he showed her the under-basement. It was flooding, and he called Jessica's house for help. The girls came down - George was off somewhere as was Jessica - and your daughter got you.

"You helped to save Ian, and the sword. Molly called me and I came, and while the kids' clothes were drying, Ian stayed up sitting on the dryer. We went down to the basement and found boxes of stuff, and spiders. Ian called Molly up to get him more hot cocoa, and Brad came in. You were shot, but whatever Ian found had to have been in the back room. She was looking for a secret room in the store. Knowing the previous owner, and what he believed in, whatever he had in that hidden area can't be good. "

"Like, _how_ not good?" asked Mort, curious.

Tipper regarded Mort. "People have died for what's been hidden in the rooms, Mort. People have been murdered in their beds, and burned alive. You know that. Cabot Cove is an old town, with parts that are just the same as those back in those sleepy little towns where this all began."

Harrison drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Gretchen found some books in the back room of the store. The entries didn't make any sense - because there were goods coming in, and nothing being sold for them. We turned it over to that inspector after the shooting, but he never said what if anything that they were. I was hoping that if we could answer this for her, maybe part of her curiosity would be tempered a bit, and not run rampant with her imagination again."

"Okay, fine. I will help reconstruct what went on that day, if we can do it in under ten minutes, because I have to get to work," she said, collecting her plate. Rising she went into the store and into the back stock room. She saw Gretchen and Molly sorting souvenirs in the back of the stockroom into small plastic boxes that would be placed for sale.

"Dr. Henderson!" Molly exclaimed with a smile. School had kept Molly busy, it had been a while since their paths had crossed, and Ian's comments about Molly had been cryptic.

"Hello, Molly." Tipper said with a smile. "I see that your getting your whatnots in order."

She nodded, then, asking permission from her aunt for a break, she went to Tipper. "So, my Dad talked to you?" she inquired. She watched as Tipper nodded.

"Ian didn't tell me anything about that day- things for him and his aunt and uncle went a bit frantic - it may have slipped his mind. Can you tell me what he said?"

Molly looked at her, then her dad, and then back to Tipper. "Well, I was upset, and he came up behind me and whispered, 'I found ye second basement I think, but it can wait 'til there are less people to see it found.' I turned, and he picked up my hand and gave it a squeeze. 'Things will work out all right, lass. Your da will be fine.'"

Tipper bit her bottom lip. They had been downstairs killing spiders. Molly had come upstairs to get him hot cocoa. "Where was Ian when he asked you about the cocoa?" asked Tipper.

"Still sitting on the dryer. I've sat up there a million times, but I didn't see anything."

Tipper nodded "Humor me, get back up on the dryer," she said, and when Molly did, Tipper slid Molly's shoes off of her feet. "Now you're the same height as he would have been," she said. "Hop down and see if anything is different."

Molly did, bobbling when she landed. "Hey!" she exclaimed. She lifted her foot. "There is something here." She said wiggling her toes as she stepped aside.

Tipper stopped Molly from digging her fingers around a small ring that was flush with the floor. "Molly - wait."

"For what?" Molly asked, curious.

"Well, for starters, cupcake, pirates have a nasty habit of booby-trapping their treasure. Remember?"

Molly sat back on her heals. "Ohh, yeah, that's right," she said, a bit worried. She studied it for a moment. "Looks like there is supposed to be a key that goes into it."

Harrison looked over his daughter's shoulder. "Well, there were a lot of keys that were left behind for this place. I think we will have to go over them to see which one might fit, and if not, we can get a locksmith to look at it."

Molly looked at her father. She was learning patience. "Okay, Dad."

Tipper glanced at her watch. "I have to head to work. Please be careful with this, and let me know what happens, okay?"

Molly nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Henderson!"

The men watched her stride to her car. Harrison turned to Mort. "You didn't ask her…" he said with a tone of bemusement in his voice. "Afraid she will cause you bodily harm for suggesting it?"

Gretchen came up between the two men. "I know if I found out what you all had planned I would…"

"It's got nothing to do with being afraid…" said Mort with a swallow. "There is still time," he said with more confidence than he had. The day had turned out not quite the way he had expected, though, leaving him with even less time, and desperate measures.

Evening arrived on the east coast in a swift judgment of the day. Far from Cabot Cove behind the cloisters of a library, time moved with measurable tension. The steady click of heal down a tile hallway drew closer to the room shrouded in the evenings darkness. Fragments of the sunset beyond the well dressed windows played the library in brilliant hues of deep rose and purples.

"She will do as we want her to do," said a demure woman's voice from the corner of the room. "She doesn't have a choice."

A tall, lanky man paced across the Persian rug. A cigar in his right hand, a tumbler of scotch in his left, he faced her, pointing with his right hand to the approaching footsteps. "I still don't like it. You have gone far in the past, but this really cuts it. You can't expect to do this, and not get caught," he said waving his arms in the air and sloshing the scotch onto the carpet. "They have rules, they have ways of finding out these things. Nothing that you can do would make it foolproof!"

Her well-manicured set of fingers waved beyond the sculpted chair that she sat within. "I expect you to do as you are told if you wish to keep your financial affairs from coming out to the attorney general, my dear."

Smoke curled around his fingers, illuminated by the brief glow of his cigar as he stubbed it out. "If that comes out, it will ruin you as well," he said bitterly. He watched her gaze at a charm bracelet that dangled from her wrist.

"I have become very adept at hiding my skeletons," she said with mirth in her voice as she regarded the triangle infinity charm that hung next to the wreath of ivy.

The footsteps came to a halt at the door, there was a timed knock, then the door opened backlighting the person briefly in the lamps which illuminated the hallway. Above the high heals draped a long leather coat. Atop a mass of long curly dark hair was a low brimmed fedora that hid the wearer's face.

"Ah, there you are my dear. Please come in." The door closed, returning the library to near darkness. "Your papers are in order, and everything has been arranged," the woman said lightly.

"Everything?" the voice asked in a silken curious way as the figure stood in the doorway.

The woman in the chair's voice contained a shrug. "If you wish to decline our offer, we would understand," she said in a non-committal tone. "It's up to you."

The hat nodded once. "I'll do it," the voice said huskily. Striding forward a gloved hand reached out and picked up a pen that rested on the table, applying a fierce scribble to the paper beneath. "And when it's over, it will - be - over," the voice said in the same silken smooth tone. Without another word, the figure strode to the door opening it, then disappeared into the night, the pen still clutched in a gloved hand.

The man leaned against the table and regarded the signature. "That went better than expected," he said hollowly. "At least she didn't ask…" He turned at the sound of a hesitant footfall coming down the hall in the same direction as the first arrivals. Gazing questioningly at his partner he blinked several times as she strode across the room and removed the first paper from the table, to replace it with another clean sheet.

"I always see to every detail," she said before returning to her chair.

The telephone at the vet clinic rang twice before Tipper was able to pick it up. She recognized Mort's voice right away, asking if she could take an early lunch. Glancing over her caseload, Tipper agreed, and while Mort wouldn't say what the subject matter was, she could tell it was important.

Lunch was a typical sandwich from the Mart with a cup of hot coffee and a Danish on the side. It wasn't the lunch that she had envisioned, though the fruit cup was better than most. He had waited until she dug into her sandwich before saying in a rush what he had been trying for a while to work up the courage to say. Her reply was one that Gretchen had predicted.

"Are you nuts, Mort? I can't do that!" shouted Tipper Henderson.

"Sure you can," Mort said with a grin. He glanced at his watch. "The contest rules state that the contestant must be picked on the basis of talent, and caring for the community. This is the first time Maine's Mud Fest Pageant has come to Cabot Cove, and we are expected to participate. Most of it will be held at the Joshua Peabody High School - they rented it to the pageant for the beginning of the summer ..." He caught Tippers frown. In the past, the Mud Fest pageant had been held earlier in the year. This year the program had been delayed to the beginning of summer for reasons that hadn't been fully explained beyond that it was a bigger production than the years before. Not that it mattered much - unless they got network coverage, this was just a small town event that brought in maybe three hundred people at the most."

"Mort, I'm not a beauty pageant material! Look at me! I hate makeup, I can't stand nail polish…"

"And I can't think of any one in this community that has touched more lives except for Mrs. F. or Doc Hazlitt. I've also seen you in that beer dress ..."

"MORT!" she thundered. "NO. N. O. means I am Not…" She stopped when she saw the look on his face. It was the sad, puppy dog look and she knew he had used it before to get what he wanted. She arched her eyebrow upward.

"How much did you bet?" she asked, leaning forward.

"ME? " he gasped. But she saw the look on his face. The guilt.

"Yes, you, Mort."

He swallowed. "Its not about that. I mean, it's not even a tangible thing, so it doesn't count."

"Mort ..." There was a warning tone in her voice.

He let out a sigh. "It's with Doc Hazlitt. I want him to come in and retake his driving test because he is over sixty, and he said he didn't need to, and he said if I could convince you to be in the pageant that he would do it."

"And what do you get out of it?"

Mort's face became serious. "In a way, peace of mind. I won't lie to you, Angela…There have been some not so funny pranks pulled at events like these over the last few years. I know that you being on the inside can give me a heads' up. You won't be alone in there. Mrs. F. has agreed to play the hostess for the press - you know, the one who stands in front of everyone and says, 'And the winner is… Ms Cabot Cove.' I checked with the rules, and because she's not involved in the voting process, it's allowed. Please?"

Tipper bit her bottom lip. She knew that Seth and Mort had been going head-to-head over Seth's driving record, and that he had been caught rolling through stop signs at an alarming rate.

"If Seth loses his driving license, then what, Mort?"

"He goes to a safe driver's class and they will assess him. If he can't pass it a second time, well, that's up to him."

Tipper bit her bottom lip again. "What's in it for me?"

Mort perked up. "Well, you don't have to cook for yourself for two weeks, and your outfits are provided - stuff you can keep later on if you want. Think of it as a way to escape reality for a while and just have fun - a vacation. I've arranged coverage for you at the clinic so you get two weeks from dealing with things there. I can take care of the lads. There are a variety of social events that you get to go to, and you get to pick what charity your winnings go to."

She scoffed. "My winnings?"

Mort shrugged. "If you make the cut for the top five, there is a prize of fifty thousand dollars. And its pretty much a given that the host town makes the top five because the local people are expected to turn out to see their contestant make it all the way through"

"I don't… what charity do we have here in Cabot Cove?"

Mort turned some papers around. "The neonatal care unit of our hospital and the children's ward have a free care fund that is always in need of donations, and seeing how you're donating a chunk of your treasure findings to it every month, you're established as a donor… Sign on the x," he said, glancing at his watch again.

"What…?" she asked, noting that he seemed impatient for her to finish signing the documents.

"It has to be signed by noon, and in the registrars hands by then," he said.

She paused her signing - there were fifteen minutes to go. "Oh really? And what would you have done if I hadn't caved in so quickly?"

"Angela, please?" he begged.

"Oh, all right," she said, sighing. "But you owe me," she said evenly.

Mort held up his hands in surrender.

"When do I have to do this?" she asked, curious and trying to get a look at the dates on it.

"Tomorrow morning at six am, it begins. You will probably have to be at the school at five-ish. Just regular clothes, a bathing suit, and something fancy to wear, like that black beer dress." He saw Tippers face cloud over a bit. "What?" he asked.

"It's just that the beer dress is a part of my life that I've always kept separate from – this. The people of this town."

"I don't know why – you look drop dead…"

She held up a hand. "And people treat me differently when I'm in it. They don't take me seriously."

Mort gave her a grin. "Angela, you know the business end of a tranq gun. You have taken out desperate criminals with it, and you can hold your own in dangerous times. I don't know of any one in Cabot Cove who doesn't respect you, and who wouldn't take you seriously."

The notary regarded him as he slid into the doors and to her desk five minutes before the deadline. Her eyebrows arched as she regarded the papers, and then reaching for her stamp she began squeezing it to every paper. "You know Mort, you could have just made Seth take his test the next time that he went through a stop sign…"

"I tried that. He said I was not impartial."

"Well, you are," said Maggie behind the desk with a grin up at him. "You didn't tell her that once she is in there that they are locked in for the whole time? I wouldn't wish that cat house on any one." Maggie glanced at the clock when she was done. "With a minute to spare," she said, placing Tipper's entry in the folder with the others. She regarded Mort. "I have my suspicions, Mort, that they brought in some ringers for this."

"Eh, that's expected. In a way, Tipper's our ringer," he said with a grin.

Tipper was too wired to eat anything. Mort had provided the list of items she needed - it had left her scrambling that afternoon while she tried to figure out what shoes she could possibly wear that were sensible. Sighing, she pulled out her garment bag. She paused. She wished she could bring her tranq gun with her. It wasn't that she hated people - she didn't - it was just she was more comfortable with animals.

The papers said they would face a series of interviews, and tests, and presentations of themselves, of their talents. She shook her head sitting on the floor of her room. She couldn't sing. She didn't play anything musical. She wasn't even remotely talented in that way. She glanced over her shelves, looking for inspiration. Her eyes fell to the Red Sox pennant, and with a giggle all of the players and stats of the team came back to her with a rush. She shook her head. Baseball was hardly relevant. She knew she had a talent for sewing up injured animals, and she had a talent for field stripping her tranq gun, but those were hardly something she could do on the stage. They had said at the tavern that she had a talent for eating the Triple Decked Cabot Cove Bomber Burger in under four minutes, but that was something she knew the pageant people would shake their heads at.

Shoving her things into the garment bag she shook her head one last time. Something would come to her. At least she was as a doctor, and able to keep her cell phone with her - the other ones had to leave them at the desk or in their lockers. She would have to keep it off during events, but on her free time she could at least check up on how the lads were doing. She knew the school had pay phones in the lobby, but that was a little too public for her.

She set her alarm for four in the morning - it wasn't the same time that she was normally up, but sleeping in by accident wasn't an option. Normal time for her was more like six am on regular days.

Mort was at her door by 4:30 am, pushing a cup of hot coffee into her hands. "I want you to be careful in there. Maggie says she thinks they slipped some ringers into the competition."

"Mort, about the entrance fee… I, I saw what it was…" she began.

Mort shook his head. "I didn't pay it all. The whole town is behind you on this, Angela."

"But I don't have a scrap of talent! I don't speak well around people. I don't even _like_ people," she said with a shrug.

"You do when it needs doing. And saying. You will be fine. You won't disappoint anyone, Angela - everyone who pitched in is just happy that Cabot Cove will be represented this year."

"And if there is a snowball's chance in Florida that I would win?" she asked.

Mort shrugged. "The grand prize is a scholarship for a four year degree. You could gift it to someone if you wished. There are a lot of kids who won't get a chance at an education."

Tipper sighed. "I still don't know what my talent is," she mused.

He grinned as they pulled into the parking lot. "It will come to you." He opened the trunk of his car and waved to the porter to collect her bags. He turned her around. "Angela - thank you," he said, his eyes getting misty.

"For what?" she asked, curious.

"Eh, you know, the whole 'I never had daughter, but if I did, I'd want her to be like you' thing. Be yourself," he concluded, then watched as she walked to the door before driving off.

Tipper had chosen to wear a comfortable pair of jeans and flat shoes with a top that her parents had given her for Christmas. Going into the main lobby of the school, now turned Welcome Center, she saw that most of the girls milling about had worn dresses, some simple, some slinky, some a bit over the top, or too high on the bottom. They wore a sash that stated their town, and all seemed to know each other. Glancing about she saw she was the only one in jeans, or pants for that matter. They all had makeup on and she was by far the shortest one there. 'Be yourself" Mort had told her. Squaring back her shoulders she went right up to the registration desk and looked the person behind the counter in the eye.

"Hello, I'm Angela Henderson, Cabot Cove's entry," she said.

The woman behind the counter looked over her glasses and for a moment didn't say anything, then glancing down she typed in Tipper's name and the sound of a printer rumbled beneath the desk.

"Welcome to Mud Fest" the woman said, handing Tipper the forms to check in.

"Thank you, Maureen," Tipper said with a smile. The woman's eyes flickered something, and she smiled back as she handed Tipper her sash, her locker key and a small welcome bag that had papers in it from behind the desk. It occurred to Tipper that it was the first time that the woman had ever smiled. For that matter, people seldom acknowledged service people, let alone use their name. When Tipper walked away, the woman went back into the computer and made a notation within.

Tipper set her bag down on the table and took a breath as she unfolded the bright pink sash. 'Oh yes, Mort Metzger, you are _sooo_ going to owe me," she thought, slipping it over her head. She felt the sash twitch from behind her, moving it into place. Tipper turned and saw a tall, older man who wore a natty tweed suit standing behind her. His eyes worked their way over Tipper, in an appraising sort of way. "Welcome to Mud Fest. I am Lucas Murray." The name meant nothing to Tipper. He held out his hand and she took it in a firm grip.

"Ms Cabot Cove," she said, remembering what she had read.

His eyes flickered to her jeans. "You did read the dress code?" he asked her softly.

Tipper took a breath. "Yes, 'where as the entry shall represent her community in the attire befitting her position within,'" she quoted back to him. "Except for the ladies of Loretta's beauty shop, the majority of Cabot Cove as a fishing community lives in their jeans. As well, performing my duties at the clinic would be impractical in high heals, makeup, and well-manicured nails." Tipper was still smiling when she finished. She couldn't help herself. In a way, a perverse way, she felt a bit rebellious against the whole beauty pageant industry. There was no way that she could ever be tall, or like them, and she didn't want to be.

She saw Lucas's mouth open to give a retort, and then he paused. "An interesting introspective," he said, looking past her at the other girls. He patted her on the shoulder. "Good luck," he said.

To Tipper's relief, Jessica was wearing an upscale pair of black denims that she had topped with a classic Alfred Dunner rose turtleneck and a tailored jacket. A simple strand of pearls finished her outfit. She winked at Tipper as their eyes met. Lucas swept from Tipper's side over to Jessica, taking her hand in his. "Mrs. Fletcher, thank you so much for joining us."

"How could I refuse to help when there are educational grants involved?" she responded, smiling. Lucas led Jessica away down the hall. Tipper took a breath, plastered on her smile and walked into where the girls had gathered for breakfast. Most of them were sipping water, or nibbling on tiny buns that Tipper recognized from the pastry shop. She knew what they tasted like. Moving down the line to where there were hot items she saw another familiar face.

"Good Morning Harrison," she said with a warm smile. While his name was on the badge, she knew him.

His eyes flickered upward from the eggs. "Good morning, Ms Cabot Cove, what would you like today in your omelet?"

"One of your grand slammers, thank you, Harrison," she said. Nodding, Harrison expertly cracked two eggs into the small pan. He had found that the store had done better with a breakfast bar, and had experimented with different omelets, as well as Pancake Mondays. Tipper had tried them all. It would stand to reason that the local people would be involved with the pageants behind the scenes running. Harrison had been prompted by Molly to create a bit of a show when he made the breakfasts - he could triple flip the pancakes, as well as the omelets, with out them spilling the ingredients right onto the customer's plate. There were a series of gasps from the girls as the omelet took to the air, flipped four times and landed safely on Tipper's garnished plate.

"Nice," she said. "Thank you." She picked up her plate, grinning. He returned her grin and watched as she turned and walked to one of the tables to sit. Very few of the girls were sitting, and none of them had bothered to look in their welcome packets. Curious, Tipper dug in the bag and pulled out the material. She was as good as anyone with scan reading, perhaps better. She almost choked on her eggs when she read that the mayor of the sponsoring town had a hand in what events the girls would have to do for the pageants judges. The welcome breakfast was first, then the presentation to the media, and then right into the first event which was entitled "What Do You Know About the Lobsters of Cabot Cove?" The event labeled "Trap Race" in the afternoon raised her eyebrows. She knew of only one type of trap that was related to what they were doing, and a sneaking suspicion tickled at the back of her mind. She closed her eyes for a second. This could get very interesting. Reading further she saw that they had to practice for a "song and dance number." She groaned. She was so going to fold Mort into a pretzel that by the time she was done Adele would have to take a week to get him unbent.

After the Trap Race, there was time to get ready for dinner with formal wear that would be provided for them. They would be staying in dorm rooms that had been created in the classrooms and they would use the lockers provided for their things. She saw movement, and saw Ms Augusta over by Harrison asking for one of the omelets. He nodded, and flipped one for her, and then several more of the girls came forward.

Ms Portland, a worldly sort, came over where Tipper was sitting. Ms Augusta was right behind her.

"May we join you?" she asked. Tipper nodded, pointing to the open chairs. She saw Ms Portland had opted for the one Molly had dubbed "The Bunny Melt:" two eggs and fresh veggies folded with mouth-watering sharp cheddar cheese. "First pageant?' she asked.

Tipper shook her head. She didn't want to admit the only other one had been when she was in kindergarten and it was Miss May Day. All of the girls had been in it , and everyone won. "You?" she asked tilting her head as she took a bite of her omelet.

Ms Augusta shook her head. "Too many to count." She took a bite of her omelet. "This is really good," she said, surprised and taking another quick bite.

Tipper slid her things into her welcome bag. "Don't judge us by our muffins," she said, watching Ms Augusta take another bite.

It took a second for what Tipper had said to sink in. She stopped eating to giggle, then she shrugged. "Most of the girls just poke at them anyway – you're the first that I've seen really actually eat at a pageant. They would rather starve than give up on winning at any cost. "

Taking another bite, Tipper finished it off. "It's going to be an energetic day, and lunch is a long ways away."

Ms Augusta tilted her head as she took a larger bite of the eggs. She knew that some of the girls had just gone up to the egg station to "sample the local fair and do as the natives do" in a way, and she had been one of them. She hadn't counted on the omelet tasting so good. Nor had the other girls who had taken a bite, with the expectation of tossing it in the trash before the second one. She looked over her shoulder. "Is he available?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as he did quad flips with the omelets, hitting the plates every time, even when the girl would keep it in motion.

"Every morning from five am 'til eleven," Tipper said, keeping a straight face. "Then the lunch crowd hits."

When they were done with their breakfast, the girls followed the instructions to place their bags in their lockers and moved out into the gymnasium where Jessica stood on the stage. The seats were assigned. Tipper moved to hers and sat down, realizing that she wasn't able to duck to a corner as she had with breakfast.

"Hello ladies, and welcome to the 209th New England Mud Fest. This year activities from traditional Mud Fests have been incorporated into the pageant…"

Tipper knew what Jessica would say - her welcome speech was part of the packet that they had received in their bag She also found a small bag at the bottom, fairly well hidden that was a small gold smiley pin. The instructions said to pin it on the sash to keep it in place. It was just a small pin, and something in her gut said, "follow every instruction, no matter how silly follow the program." She could count perhaps three others that had found the pin and had placed it on the sash. Jessica kept her speech short then introduced the girls as they walked in order in front of the stage. Following the introduction were opening remarks by Lucas Murray and then the woman who had checked them in, his wife Maureen Murray. They were the pageant sponsors.

They introduced the judges - most of the names Tipper didn't recognize, but two of them she did. Mrs. Beauchampra was of the old, Irish lace having been around almost as long as the pageants had been. The other was Mr. Andrews, a contributor to the school and community, as well as the chaperones for the thirty-five ladies entered into the pageant. Tipper had met Mr. Andrews over a year before when Jordan had blown into town creating havoc in her wake. He was not one to be bribed, nor did he do favors. At one time he had been a keen judge of character, becoming complacent for a while before regaining his zeal for the truth after his granddaughter Taylor and her children moved in with him. At least she could trust him to be impartial.

Tipper tried to pay attention to what they were saying, and her state of alarm grew when she heard them mention that the pageant was be filmed, and broadcast live on the final evening. She would have to have more of a chance to read through the events. They would spend time at different historical sites, the hospital visiting the children, and have some explore time of their local area. Tipper had been in the town long enough to know where all the good spots were, and thought about if she should decline going. How many times can you go on a whale watch when it was out of season? She realized the spots that were chosen were also most likely the places that were named as charities. They would be observed interacting with each other, as well as the locals. Tipper grinned. Anyone who had snubbed the food this morning had been seen - and it would have counted against them.

Each of their bags had their names on them, and they were to keep them in their lockers, checking every morning to see what was added, and any instructions for the day.

Presence of the media was evident shortly after the welcome speech. Large Channel 6 news cameras were set up and the crew ran around doing light checks. Tipper saw part of the crew head down to one of the classrooms.

The first event, "How Well You Know Your Lobster," was an interesting exercise. Each girl had an allotted five minute interview with a local lobster fisherman. They went by alphabetical order, and as Cabot Cove, Tipper's name was called fairly quickly.

There were several bags sitting on the table, with three lobster fishermen that regarded her with interest. She didn't know any of them, which was just as well. She smiled and said hello to all of them, noting that like her, they lived in their jeans. Opening the first bag, she reached in and withdrew a lobster with its claws waving. She did a quick assessment on it.

"Just under the legal limit for size," she said, almost scolding them. "He goes back." She placed the lobster back into the bag and went on to the second bag. This one was bigger, much bigger than the first one. "Oversized," she said, putting the lobster back and reaching in for the next. She looked at it. Tilting her head she flipped it over. "This isn't a Maine lobster," she said, placing it back in the bag.

She heard the scratch of the pens. Taking a breath she reached in the final bag. This one was proper size, and from its markings she knew was a local catch. Holding up the lobster she said, "Thirteen minutes steamed, drawn butter." She placed the lobster back into the bag and looked at them.

The men looked at each other then the first one asked about how lobsters began, and the second one asked about trapping methods. The third one asked about the number of lobsters brought in by specific towns. Tipper realized that this was a trick question because not all of the towns named were on the coast. They thanked her, and then dismissed her. She kept the door open for the girl coming in, and as it closed slowly she heard a wild shriek from the girl followed by, "IT BIT ME!"

"Score one for Cabot Cove," she said to herself.

There was time enough for Tipper to take a quick look around the area of the pageant and to watch the comings and goings of the news media. One of the film team was in with the lobstermen, another one had set up an interview area for the girls, asking them stats, and what they did.

"Mort is going to owe me in so many ways," Tipper thought to herself. Closing her eyes she leaned against one of the walls. "I can do this," she thought.

Bits of conversation could be heard floating about the rooms. She recognized Jessica's voice speaking to one of the contestants, but what caught her attention was something coming from down the hall. A silky voice arguing with someone.

"You didn't say that this would be filmed in Podunk!" the silky voice snapped. The man's voice that answered was Lucas Murray's. It was low, and while it didn't sound threatening, Tipper knew that it had to have been a warning for the woman to keep her voice down. "You're not the only one who's signed an agreement," he said.

There was a pause from the woman. "Just be sure you keep up your end of it, or it will be more than a contract that's broken around here!" The voices moved off down the hall before Tipper had a chance to discover who had been talking to Lucas. Sighing, she plastered on a smile as she joined the others milling about as they listened to each other's interviews.

Tipper had a fair idea of what was going to happen that afternoon. As expected, they were taken by bus down to the harbor where a large crowd had gathered. The girls were given overalls, and large rubber boots to hold. A quick glance showed three strings of traps that ran from one side of the harbor to the other, as well as a pile of lobster traps that had lobsters waving their arms. There was also a large barrow of something that Tipper suspected was chum.

"All right, ladies, you all have a choice as to what you wish to do. You will be timed in this event, from start to finish, starting with placing your overalls on and your boots over your shoes." The girls looked at him with dismay. "You may answer yes or no by stepping to the task of your choice, but you can not change your mind once you say no, and if you do not wish to do the first or second task, you must do the third." He paused letting the girls regard the things set before them.

"The first task is to run across these traps strung across the harbor. You will be timed on how fast you get across to the other side in any way that you can." Tipper took a breath - that meant that should you fall in, you could still swim across. She noted that there were boats along the traps, just in case some one fell in.

Well, of all the things Tipper suspected that the run in the water was going to be the least smelliest. She found Ms Augusta and Ms Portland stepping up to the traps with her. A couple of other girls wobbled with their stuff over as well. Some of the others shook their heads so at the end count of it, there were fourteen of the thirty-five.

Tipper knew that it would be hard. She had seen in years past, the men doing this at Mud Fest , but in its own way it felt, right. With the three rows, they lined up, watching for the signal. Tipper regarded the overalls and saw there were stirrups on the pants legs. Each of them had snaps, and were adjustable. They were one-size-fits-all, and whoever wore them had to get into them properly so that the water wouldn't soak them.

"Ever do this before?" Ms Portland asked Tipper. She shook her head.

"First time for a lot of things," she said.

The stop watches were pulled out. Tipper saw the flag drop and dropped her boots down, and placed the legs in each of the boots. Shoes and all she shoved her legs into the overalls and pulled them up over her shoulders, taking time to tuck her sash in. She sprinted to the dock and with a leap, landed on the first trap. It tossed her to the side, and she stepped down on it with her other foot to stabilize it before going on to the next one, hitting it dead center.

Giving a whoop of surprise Ms Portland ended up in the water beside her traps. It was followed by a string of very unlady-like language. Tipper kept running. She felt her breath come in ragged gasps as she neared the shore. It couldn't have taken more than a full minute to get from the start of the traps to where she was just then, but it felt like an eternity. She saw she had five traps to go when her line went loose and she began to sink into the water, the line tension gone. She got her breath, then jumped into the water, sloshing her way to the shore where she was helped out. She saw concerned faces and turned to see her line adrift. "You okay, Tipper?" asked the man who had helped her up. She nodded.

The line had come loose. It happened a lot during the races in the past, but usually from wear. Both Portland and Augusta didn't finish the race, but several others did when the lines were made secure again. The ones who had raced over the traps were given blankets and hot cocoa. The way that Tipper had placed her pants in her boots instead of on the outside prevented any water from getting into her overalls, so she was for the most part dry, yet still chilled from the experience. The second set of girls chose to remove lobsters from their traps and then judge them to see if they were to go back into the water, or to be used for dinner. She could tell who was doing well with that task. Those who had hung back got the task of baiting with chum all of the empty traps, which were loaded up on the boats and taken out.

Tipper looked at the ones who had gone in the water. Ms Bar Harbor looked worse for wear. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking from the cold. Sighing, Tipper got up and went to her, wrapping her blanket around her. She picked some sea weed out of the girl's hair. "How much of it did you swallow?" Tipper asked gently.

"Enough," she said shivering. "The media is watching us, aren't they?" Tipper glanced at the cameras. There was some live action of the girls trying to be brave with the bloody chum but it wasn't working.

"How about I introduce you to Eric?" Tipper said, guiding the girl to her feet and over to where one of the EMTs was standing. They had done a quick assessment on those going in, and had handled a few cuts. "Eric, this is Ms Bar Harbor…"

"Hello," he said in his soft, gentle voice.

"She's swallowed some of Cabot Cove's finest, and feels a bit shaky," Tipper said in a low voice.

"I'm so cold…" Ms Bar Harbor said through chattering teeth.

Tipper located one of the chaperones and informed her of Ms Bar Harbors illness, and then rejoined the group.

The dance number rehearsal was before dinner. She had overheard some arguing with the choreographer that the expected number was to be "All that Jazz" from the Broadway hit _Chicago._ She heard Mayor Sam Booth's voice rise over the other voice that she recognized as Lucas's saying, "We will NOT be presenting that shameless display of flesh in Cabot Cove. Yes, I did watch the tape as you suggested, and the community leaders agree that something more appropriate to our community would make a better impression, like, "I feel Pretty" from _West Side Story." _New York was much closer than Chicago was, he reasoned.

"And I suppose that you want Ms Cabot Cove in the lead?" The choreographer said, keeping a fixed gaze upon Sam.

Sam regarded the man. "Only if you think the role would be suited for her."

The choreographer frowned. This was not what he had in mind at all. Sam hastily shoved the papers for the song and dance into his hands and smiled. "It will be wonderful," he said. "They sing about Miss America in the number." He beamed.

Dancing… didn't go well. For the most part the pageant was an ongoing production with the same girls at each of the pageants, and they had fallen into a routine of standard production numbers. It was a given that much of the pageant was never seen by the State of Maine, allowing the choreographer to repeat the dance numbers each time. It allowed the girls to become proficient at the song and dance, and newcomers would stand out as missing steps in front of the judges. The host city did always reserve the right to suggest events they would like to see - something like this that would place all the girls in the dance number on equal footing. The dance and song that Sam had suggested was for just five girls and he had thirty-seven of them to work in.

To her credit, Tipper didn't knock any one over. She was placed in the front line in a corner and managed to follow directions of which way to turn, and where to step. She was careful not to fall off the stage, and when they held up the cards for the girls to learn their lines, she spoke the words. She wasn't a singer, and she was counting on the others' singing to drown her out. They were given a break when dinner time came. Tipper took a breath. It hadn't been any worse than an all-day surgery.

Most of the girls were too tired to eat dinner. Some of them picked at it, while some of them - the ones who had shoved chum in to the traps - couldn't eat at all. Tipper hung her sash with her pin in her locker and placed her clothes and shoes in it, keeping out only a pair of fuzzy socks and her bedclothes. At nine lights out was called, but she didn't hear it - she was fast asleep as were her roommates, Ms Portland, Ms Augusta, Ms Bar Harbor and Ms Freeport. Tipper had slipped her key into her pj's inside pocket, pinning it there. It was something she had done during her college days, so as not to get locked out of her dorm room during the night.

Four a.m. found her wide awake. There had been voices in the hall - the matron's, she presumed. She lay in the darkness for a moment, then got out of bed and went to her locker to get her next day's clothing. She found all too familiar hospital scrubs, and sighing she gathered them and walked to the shower. She was used to in and out scrub-up at the hospital. Going back to her locker, she looked in her gift bag and found a lobster wearing a bib with a pick and knife as the background. A second pin was beside it, the shape of a lobster trap. "Cool," she said, pinning them under the smiley face.

Breakfast was a bit more subdued than the day before. Most notably was the absence of five of their number as the girls staggered in. The ones from Tipper's room were sore, but more on their feet than the other ones - even Ms Bar Harbor, who had recovered from her dunking. She too wore a trap pin, as did the girls who had completed the course. The girls that had chosen the traps had claw pins, and the ones who did the chum had dinner plate pins. A few of them couldn't understand the logic behind it until some one pointed out that they were providing dinner for the lobsters. Tipper was the only one with the pin with the lobster with the pick and knife though, and it drew some questioning glances. She just shrugged.

Pancakes and waffles were on the menu this morning, and Harrison could judge what the girls needed. They didn't argue with the choice of food, nor did they snub it. A lot of the glamour had worn off of the ladies leaving gritty determination. Some of them did manage make up, and more than one had slept in hair curlers. But Tipper could tell that they were tired. She started pouring orange juice for them and setting it in front of her roommates. "Drink, it will stabilize your blood sugars."

A couple of them drank it down in a gulp, then went for seconds. One of them said, "Calories, ladies!"

Heads turned. "Stuff calories, if today is going to be like yesterday, I'm going to need all my strength," quipped Ms Portland.

Tipper sat down as Jessica entered into the room. She saw Jess take a breath and begin to speak in her soft voice: "Yes, you will, but not from being on your feet. These scrubs should tell you that we will be heading to the hospital to tour the neonatal ward, and the children's ward. Four years ago it was just a dream, an empty section of the hospital that didn't have an incubator for preemie infants, or the tools to perform lifesaving micro surgeries. Your bodies hurt because of things that you have done that you are not used to doing. Their little bodies hurt because of infection, and trauma. You all have huge hearts, all of you believe in your charities, and that's noble. But I don't think any of you will be the same when you return from the tour at the hospital. Yes, we all have to have our strength. And we have to share that strength, no matter how hard it may be to face what is going on there."

The bus ride to the hospital reminded Tipper of her days in school. The seats weren't the best, but by holding on, one managed not to be flung to one side. She caught whispered words from behind her that the five had been suspended because they had been caught outside after curfew, but as all of the night life closed down after eight, there really wasn't anything to charge them with, except being very stupid. The loss in points would hurt their chance of winning, though.

As the hospital drew near Tipper felt a tingle go up her spine, one that was, familiar in a way. The girls had composed themselves, found their inner strength and managed to become the beauty pageant contestants that they had arrived in Cabot Cove as. They had balloons for the kids and books for them and spent time reading to them and telling them stories. Many of the children knew Tipper as being their puppy or kitten's vet and kept getting up to come over to her and sit beside her. She heard a very familiar, "Arr arr arr" behind her, and turned. There stood Margarita with an IV pole in tow behind her. She ran to Tipper and flung herself into her arms and for a moment everything else disappeared. Tipper allowed herself to hold the fluffy bundle of Margarita and closed her eyes, soaking up her infectious giggle.

"Arr, arr," Tipper replied back to Margarita.

"Oohh, what a sweet little buttercup!" cooed Ms Freeport.

Margarita turned to regard her a long time. Then she looked at Tipper and shrugged. _"Bheith as do mheabhar."_

The phrase surprised Tipper. It was said in a normal voice for a child her age, and it was said in context. _"Aithnim thu mo naire thu!" _Tipper said to her, scolding her gently. Ian had taught her what she knew of the language. Over the school year via a web cam and conference calling Ian, Frank and some of the others got together, and Ian would teach her phrases. She would double check sometimes, to be sure he wasn't slipping off-color comments in - but somehow she felt it important that the kids had a way of sharing what they had grown up with.

There was such mischief in her eyes, Tipper had no doubt that Margarita knew everything she was saying. The one-on-one time with Taylor teaching Margarita, the time listening with the kids, and no doubt time with tutors had finally broke through the years of confinement that she had endured. It didn't explain why Margarita was at the hospital, but a quick peak at her IV showed that it was packed for antibiotics and hydration.

Tipper became aware that the other contestants were looking at the two of them. "This is Margarita," she said with a smile.

Margarita turned around in Tippers arms and said, "Arr arr arr."

"Means 'Hello,'" Tipper said, explaining to the others.

"Like how my doggie says hello to me when I come back from school?" one of the little ones asked. Tipper nodded. With Margarita sitting on her lap, they participated in the activities that were planned for the group. Each of the kids wore an ankle bracelet of sorts, which informed the nurses where they were. Tipper noticed that Margarita didn't have one. She did wear her name bracelet, and she seemed happy enough to stay on the floor where they were.

One of the nurses came by and checked her IV as she slept in Tipper's arms. "What is she in for?" Tipper asked the nurse softly as she ruffled Margarita's hair.

"Bit of the flu. Taylor was able to get her transferred here from their hospital. She's been a little angel for us, except for wearing her ankle monitor. We've been able to make a deal with her to stay on the floor in sight of the nurses and she won't have to wear it."

Tipper nodded, thinking to herself, "As if they could keep up with her if she decided to escape on them."

The media arrived and Tipper found herself being cornered by them, as the hospital was her charity. They directed her to the atrium of the neonatal wing and set up the cameras.

She said her name, and that she was Ms. Cabot Cove, where she was born, and how long she had lived in Cabot Cove. They dove right in - what did she do for a living, how did she pick the charity, and if she wasn't married and didn't have children, why did she happen to pick the hospital?

Tipper chose her words very carefully. "I'm a vet for companion animals - while there is a need for shelters for animals, more pressing was the addition of a children's ward to this hospital, and a neonatal unit expansion. Several years ago the hospital had tried to build this wing, but it didn't have funding. The infants, if they could survive the air lift, were taken to Portland's hospital. A close friend of mine was able to get the project started, and when I came into some money, I placed the dividends into the free care fund for the children."

"Ah, money from the treasure hunting expedition." Tipper didn't react. She knew that Molly's find had made front page news, and as the map owner, Molly had decided to split the treasure up with everyone who was there. Tipper didn't want to take any of it, but Molly insisted that she take a few bars that were quite heavy. It had turned out the bars were gold, and she had decided to place one of them on auction. The sum that was raised had caused Grady to quietly inform her of a way to divert some of the income to charity, and the rest into stocks that would pay out every so often. Of the gold from Ireland, she couldn't bear to spend it. She kept that in a safe in hidden room under the museum, and everyone in the town presumed she had brought back just a souvenir piece like Frank did.

She gave a nod. "The money is earmarked for the hospital free care fund and held in trust, and provides a steady amount to help with the program. A single child that has a critical illness can incur debts of over a million dollars a year just in the staffing payroll. Many of the children have illnesses that are unique, and what is learned from their treatments might provide cures for others in years to come. We haven't been able to save every child that's come through these doors. But we have to keep trying."

She heard a wild shriek and saw Margarita escaping from the nurse who was trying to change the IV on her pole. Giggling, she took off down the hall and turned, shrieking again as a nurse tried to catch her. Tipper unhooked her mike and went to the hallway where she crouched down. Giving a soft whistle, she saw Margarita turn and run into her arms. She held up something to Tipper, who met Margarita's eyes. It was a charm bracelet held in her pudgy little hands. She stopped the nurse from placing the antibiotic bag on the IV drip and carried Margarita to the nurses desk where she paged Seth as she swiftly disconnected the line into her arm from the port. Seth came bolting out of the elevator over to them and looked at Margarita.

Tipper didn't have to say anything, she only pressed the charm bracelet into his hands. A glance down, then back to Tipper told her he would take care of things. Gathering Margarita into his arms, he carried her out of view of the cameras. Tipper turned and saw one of the nurses taking the IV pole. "Don't touch that," she said a bit sharper than she intended.

Sighing she felt a poke at her side. The camera crew was regarding her intensely. "What was that all about?" one of the men asked her.

"Nothing you can put on the air, she's a minor." There were a few blinks of surprise from the men, and then the camera man nodded, agreeing with her. They managed to get her hooked back up again with the mike and continued to ask questions about Cabot Cove, her unconventional approach to the pageant wear, and they finished with asking about her talents.

"You mean about how I can field strip a tranq gun, and hit a charging wild boar at one hundred yards, or being able to dequill a pup in under half an hour?" she asked, a tone of teasing in her voice. "I'm not going to say that singing opera or tap dancing isn't a talent, only does it matter in the world to someone besides gratification that it's done?" She paused a moment. "Granted, with art, there is an understanding of beauty - and the expression of joy in the movements. Physiologically speaking, dance and singing are more of an exercise for one's spiritual self. The movements used raise the endorphin levels in those performing. Equally so in the people watching the performance as the emotional response can produce the same endorphins which in turn, promotes better health."

"If there was one thing in your life that you could change, what would it be?"

Tipper started to say something. She closed her mouth, lowered her head for a second, then taking breath said softly, "Everything that we have done in our lives has made us who we are, what we are. If we believe that events happen for a reason, if it directs us in a way that changes the future, then no matter how painful the event may be, we need to accept what has happened, and go on."

"Your referring then to the young man who died during your treasure hunt fiasco in Ireland?"

Tipper raised an eyebrow. "I attended a friend's wedding in Ireland, and yes, artifacts were uncovered, but Faraday's death was because his stepfather shot at me. His stepfather was responsible for several murders in the community. Faraday saved my life. The bullet went through his heart and he died in my arms."

"Surely you would wish him back, then… to be with his family."

Tipper found herself shaking her head. "No," she said softly. She saw the interviewer pushing for more information. Tears pressed against the back of her eyes, causing her to blink twice to stop them. "They all died a month after he did, in a house fire." She shrugged. "It was an old house - they said it was the chimney in the kitchen. They were good people," she ended on a soft note. She drew herself up with a breath, blinked to clear her eyes then looked at the interviewer. "Do you have any other questions relevant to the pageant?" she asked.

The interviewer was caught off guard. "Uh, do you expect to win?"

Tipper grinned. "I expect to have a great time trying my best for my community, and my friends. Should I win?" She shrugged.

"What's more important, World Peace, or World Hunger?"

"Oh, that's easy. Tell me, what's more important, air or water?" For a moment the interviewer sat thinking then shook his head. Tipper smiled. "If you don't have air, you can't breath and you die rather quickly. Water, on the other hand - without it, you will die in time, just not as quickly. If World Hunger is air, and World Peace is water, then you realize we need both of them in order to survive, and one does not become more important than the other."

They wrapped it up, and the time at the hospital was coming to a close when one of the camera men came over to Tipper.

"The way you responded to that little girl… her life is in danger, isn't it?"

Seth's voice behind him made him jumps a good three feet in the air. "Yes, it is," he said softly. He looked at Tipper who was fighting hard not to laugh - it was a serious moment, but the jump was something that she would remember. "Good call," he said.

"Wait, someone tried to hurt that child?" he asked, concerned.

Seth regarded him for a moment, then taking a breath he said, "Young man, perhaps its best if we had a small discussion."

Tipper watched them go down the hall. For a moment she stood in silence and reflected on what her interview had covered. Sure, she had the talent for seeing the dead, and she could see angels as well as the shadows. But it wasn't something that one discussed with anyone other than those who had seen it themselves, and those who understood. She would have to think of something. In two days began the talent event, and she was still clueless as to what her talent was. Mort was certain that she had one. So had been Harrison.

She was silent on the ride home. She could hear the girls chattering about how adorable the children were at the hospital. Tipper closed her eyes. They had only seen them - the children, after they had been admitted to the hospital - when they were at their best. Not everyone left there alive. She didn't need to remind herself of that.

She felt the seat depress beside her and looked over at Ms Bar Harbor. "You okay?" she asked softly.

Tipper glanced at her. "Will be," she said softly. "A lot of memories at that place."

Dinner was a buffet, and Jessica managed to sit next to her at the end of a table. Her head low, Jessica filled Tipper in on what Mort and Seth had found.

"Someone had tampered with the bags marked for Margarita - she's fine, Seth has arranged for a secured staff to take care of her. As for the charm bracelet, with that particular charm, we don't know."

"I keep thinking of all of the innocents that have been harmed in all of this, Jessica." Jessica placed her hand on Tipper's arm as she dropped her voice and added in a soft whisper, "And I have no clue about what talent I have to show everyone."

Jessica regarded Tipper. "It's been said that 'Talent reflects how you're hardwired. That's what sets the concept apart from that of knowledge or skills. Talent dictates your moment-by-moment reactions to your environment - there's an instinctiveness, an immediacy implied. Talent results in consistently recurring patterns of thought or behavior. To deviate from those patterns requires conscious effort, and such deviations are difficult to sustain.' You were not born with the knowledge of how to shoot your tranq gun, or to care for it - that was something that was learned with practice, much like the girls learned to tap dance and juggle. You have in you, however, a very special talent that no one else here has. Your talent of communicating."

Tipper nearly blew her tea through her nose as she choked on her beverage. "I hate talking to people, Jessica! I strongly dislike people, for that matter! I have no clue what to say to them and fair better with sign language with a monkey!"

"Who said anything about talking to people?" Jessica asked, smiling.

Tipper shook her head. "The lads would never agree to an interview."

"The lads are not the only ones in your circle of four-legged friends," Jessica said, raising herself from the table. It was time for her to mingle, and see how the other girls were doing. She patted Tipper on the shoulder, confident that she would find her answers.

The girls were given a "Down Day" where they could choose their activity of either working on their talent presentation, or going on the whale watch followed by yet another dance workout. Tipper opted for the whale watch. It was unlikely that they would see a whale, but on the other hand, it felt right. She packed a note pad and pen with her, as well as her camera.

The girls walked down to the boat and boarded, followed by the news media. Tipper had worn her **"**trademark" flannel top over a white t shirt and was surprised to see most of the other girls wearing shorts and skimpy tops with their sashes. The wind was briskly blowing by the time that they arrived in front of the Mini Mart. At least her roommates had worn pants, not that they were blue jeans, but they were stylish Dockers that did give their legs protection. They looked a bit nervously at Tipper and asked her softly, "Is it going to be this breezy" (she noticed that they didn't say 'cold') "on the boat?"

Tipper nodded then inclined her head to the Mini Mart. She stepped in front of the door, blocking the view of the other girls coming down the hill. When the girls came out, each of them were wearing a zip sweat shirt that said "CABOT COVE" on the front, and their sashes over the sweat shirts. It did make them look fatter, but they were at least warm.

Tipper winked at them as they walked up the gangplank and stood together for photos at the life preserver. It was pretty much for show that the others stood on the rail and waved to the media. En mass the girls went down to the lower deck inside to where they had hot coffee and hot cocoa. Tipper and her roommates made their way to the top deck where the seats were and sat down.

Ms Bar Harbor regarded the media as they boarded the boat. "Ohhh, guess they didn't count on that," she said, grinning.

"On what?" Tipper asked.

Ms Freeport leaned into them. "On the other tours, the media usually stays behind, or they drive to one or two of the spots on the tour to film as the bus rolls by. They really can't snub the tour and not lose points, can they?" she asked, grinning.

Before the boat got underway, the news crew moved to the top deck where the chairs were. They were still setting up when the girls, realizing that they really needed to be where the cameras were, came up the steps and took their seats. Tipper heard a grumbling behind her from a silken voice complaining about how bloody cold it was going to get and whose idea was it to show the stupid local they were tougher than she was?

Tipper caught her breath. She had a pretty fair idea who the 'stupid local' was that they were referring to. She felt a nudge on her knee by Ms Bar Harbor, who wore a smirk and rolled her eyes that said, "Who's the real stupid idiot here?" as she inclined her head towards the voice. Tipper found herself returning the grin. Just wait until they saw what was in store for the cod relay.

They saw lighthouses, and seals, and sea birds, the Rockefeller island, and then they headed out to deeper water to find the whales' feeding grounds. Tipper found that once they were under way the girls soon re-migrated down to the cantina area. Tipper, followed by her roommates, made their way to the bow of the boat and gazed over the ocean.

"FOOTPRINT ELEVEN O'CLOCK!" Tipper found herself yelling.

The boat's engines came to a stop and the boat drifted a bit.

"Footprint?" someone asked, confused.

"Water displacement when the whale goes down - there are no waves in the area."

Thirty seconds went by, then a minute. There was a thud on the side of the boat, then a second one. The captain came on the speaker: "No one move." A third thump, then something surfaced right below where Tipper was. She found herself looking directly into the basketball-sized eyeball of a whale, a baby one at that.

"Hello there, little one," she said in a high-pitched voice she reserved for animals. It sounded a bit cartoony, but the baby whale responded to her with happy clicks and whistles.

"Regular Dr. Doolittle?" the silken voice said out loud in a droll humorless tone meant to mock Tipper.

Tipper turned and saw the silken voice belonged to Ms Rockland. According to her sash, she didn't have any pins at all, one of the few who didn't.

"How did you know?" she asked sweetly with a smile.

"Know what?" Ms Rockland asked, becoming confused.

It was Ms Portland's turn to speak up. "Like, duh, she's one of the East Coast's premier vets…"

Ms Rockland looked uncertainly between Ms Portland and Tipper, who was standing now, a bit flushed from a different type of embarrassment. Pulling herself up straight, Ms Rockland turned and flounced away from the rails.

"Who told you that?" asked Tipper quietly to Ms Portland.

"Oh, that cute guy who makes breakfast for us - Harrison. He says his daughter thinks the world of you, as does pretty much everyone in the town. So exactly _what_ are you doing that gets that type of attention and admiration from your community? Like, they know you by _name_ …"

Tipper found herself blushing harder. "I just am their vet…"

Ms Bar Harbor had been listening to them. "A pretty talented one at that."

Tipper remained silent most of the trip back after they had cleared all the whales that had come to investigate what was going on. She wandered down below and found a strange quiet in the cantina. Most of the girls had gone down there, but at the same time, they were sitting in their chairs, straight up - Tipper realized they were fast asleep. There was a perverse pleasure as she pulled out her camera and set it on video mode and started filming the sleeping girls. She zoomed in on a couple who were snoring, and one or two were drooling like little kids.

Not all of them, though. Tipper heard the sound of Ms Rockland's distinctive voice telling someone to pack it in or else. Sliding the camera into her pocket, but not turning it off, she followed the sounds to its source.

There was the sound of someone being struck, and a squeal. Curious, Tipper went to where the stairwell was and saw Ms Rockwell aiming a blow with something in her hand at Ms Bar Harbor's head. She recognized it as one of the buoy weights that they had on the walls for decoration, and pulled Ms Bar Harbor down the steps out of the way before the blow could connect. Sharp eyes told Tipper that Ms Rockland had grasped the sash of Ms Bar Harbor and two of her pins were missing. She caught Ms Rockland by the ankle as she intended to flee up the steps.

"Hold it right there," she said, guiding the woman back down. "Hand them over," she said, holding out her hand.

"Or what? You'll break one of my nails?"

"Ohh, I think a few days sitting in a jail cell for assault with a deadly weapon would pretty much kill your chance of ever being in any pageants ever again. Hand over her pins, and anyone else's you've taken today."

"They won't do anything to me," she scoffed, but still handed over the pins she had taken from Ms Bar Harbor. "You have no proof," she added.

Tipper pulled her camera from her pocket. "Actually, I have this on video record, and while it got the corner of my pocket, it also captured you trying to smack her head in."

She saw the deadly malice brimming in Ms Rockland's eyes before she banged passed Tipper and stomped back along the lower deck area. Tipper turned off her camera and, sighing, guided Ms Bar Harbor back into where the others were and got her a cup of hot cocoa to steady her nerves. She told Ms Bar Harbor she was getting a cup of hot coffee for herself and would be right back. While she had her back turned away from her she took the chip out of the bottom of her camera and slid it into her pocket, before replacing it with another chip. Feeling a bit paranoid she made another purchase, and slid it into her upper pocket while slipping the camera into the front pocket of her jeans. She didn't want to lose the evidence that she knew Mort would be very interested in. She knew sitting would be impossible, but at this point, she wanted to keep her back to the wall.

Upon arrival of the boat to the dock, they were told that they still had a few hours of free time. Most of the girls went straight back up to the school where they went to their rooms, showered and then took a nap before dinner - some fell asleep across their beds, utterly exhausted. Tipper and her roommates had lingered at the Mini Mart as the others trudged up the hill. Tipper picked up some rubber neoprene gloves and a bottle of liniment that she knew that they would be needing after the race tomorrow. When she pulled out her money, she slid the camera chip in with the packet of bills and gave it to Harrison, who looked up at her then nodded. The other ladies picked up some warmer socks, and t-shirts with long sleeves.

As they walked up the hill in silence Tipper knew something was going on by the looks they were exchanging. "So, we sort of figured you know what this cod relay thing is for tomorrow, and we were hoping that you could, well, tell us what to expect. It said in the packet, well, that each of the dorm rooms would be its own team for it and some other events, so …" began Ms Freeport.

"Why are they making us do gucky stuff like this?" blurted Ms Bar Harbor.

Tipper sighed. "It's a man thing." All of the girls giggled with her. "a misguided notion perhaps that women, aren't capable of doing what men can do, but men do some pretty odd things, and in proving that they might be better, they want the women to do the same," she said, shrugging. "Like when your mother asks you if all of your friends would jump off the roof, would you do it too? They might even be finding humor in our discomfort."

The women looked at each other. "So… they are laughing at us?" asked Ms Freeport.

Tipper looked at her and met her eye. "I think they know better than to laugh when we can hear them."

"Well, we can't _not_ do what the competition asks," said Ms Portland.

Tipper grinned at her. "You're right, we can't, and if a guy can do this, we can do this too, and we can do it better than they ever could, namely by getting better scores than the guys do. This is Mud, ladies. There is no glamour in it, only grit, and determination, and _we_ will add the style."

"So, you're a professional, you don't need to do this or prove anything to anyone here - why are you doing it?" asked Ms Freeport.

Tipper let out a slow breath. "It's just a favor for a friend," she said simply.

When they arrived at the school Tipper was surprised to see Mort and Andy there. Off to the side there was an ambulance. He eyed Ms Bar Harbor and asked Tipper, "Have all you ladies been together?"

Ms Freeport nodded. "We stopped at the Mini Mart on the way back. What happened?"

"Lucas Murray was found at the bottom of a flight of steps, holding this." He held up a small plastic bag that had a lobster with a pick and fork on it. Tipper blinked and looked down at her sash. Hers was still there. "He is still alive, but it's iffy. Witnesses say that they saw you -" he indicated Ms Bar Harbor - "having an argument with him a few minutes before he was found. Something about a contractual disagreement."

At first Ms Bar Harbor looked confused. There was a flicker of something in her eyes that both Tipper and Mort saw. Mort met Tipper's gaze then sighed. "Alright, you ladies go on in, it's near dinner time and they said something about all of you getting together in the dining hall for some announcement of teams for tomorrow before your dance number."

Tipper looked at Mort as the four ladies went in. She waited until they were out of ear shot. "You might check the award list for the pins Mort. I'm the only one in the group that got the lobster pick pin. There had to have been extras. Harrison has my camera chip - there is a video that you will need to see, and I overheard the same voice on the video having a disagreement with Lucas about a contract dispute. Don't we sign the same contracts?" she asked, puzzled.

Mort shook his head. "There is another one, called a Rigging Sheet. They set it so that they promise one girl to win, and she turns over the money from the event, she gets the title, and the car and any of the other donated prizes, or vice versa…"

Tipper crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You knew that there would be a song and dance number in the pageant, didn't you." She saw the guilt in Mort's eyes. He couldn't answer her. She leaned forward. "Mort, it's only dumb luck so far that I haven't banged into someone or knocked them off the stage during this. What were you thinking? This is a disaster in the making!"

She saw a flicker of something in Mort's eyes as he struggled with a way to respond to her and calm her near-hysterics.

"What is it?"

He hesitated.

"Mort?"

"Uh, you know that plant that you had on the back porch? Well, with the storms that were coming, I sort of placed it on the kitchen counter."

She nodded. He paused for a moment. "The lads sort of… decimated it… then went on a curtain rampage."

Tipper sighed, shaking her head she placed her palm against her forehead and shook her head again before she walked into the school. She was still shaking her head when Ms Bar Harbor came to her. "Your boyfriend do something wrong?"

"Ah, he's just watching my cats and they decimated my curtains," she said with a shrug. "Didn't know that catnip should have been left outside," she finished, then saw the expression on Ms Bar Harbor's face. "What? Just because I'm a vet doesn't mean my cats don't get into things they shouldn't… I know better, but they don't."

Dinner was a somber affair. Tipper kept sneaking glances around the room to see who was eating, and who may be missing pins. She had a pretty fair idea where those pins went, though bringing it to the attention of anyone except Jessica - and Mort at this point - would look petty.

They would have to get through the cod relay tomorrow before the first of the eliminations would happen. Even if she was eliminated, she would still have to participate in the events, or forfeit half of the returnable entry fee if the person didn't make it to the top twenty. Tipper bit the bottom of her lip. Something didn't add up. She waited until after dinner to seek out Jessica as they walked down to where the stage was and realizing that she was being watched she started with, "Mrs. Fletcher…"

Jessica stopped. She knew that ordinarily Tipper would call her Jessica, but this was different.

"Yes, Ms Cabot Cove?" she asked with a tease in her eyes.

"Sheriff Metzger brought in the tub of catnip from the rain, and he says the lads have decimated my curtains. Would you…"

"Be able to stop by and see what the damage is?"

Tipper nodded and then said softly to Jessica, "The math of the money doesn't add up."

Jessica nodded and patted Tipper's hand. "I will make sure that things are in order."

"Thank you, Mrs. Fletcher."

Tipper went up to her room and pulled her shoes off. She still had the rubber gloves in an unopened box and quite frankly, she knew they were a liability.

Looking around her room, her eyes settled on the tissue dispenser cover on her night stand. Lifting it up, she saw that there was enough room for the glove box, and by pulling tissues out she was able to thread them through to disguise the glove box. She put the opened box in the closet in the room face down with the other extra boxes so that it would look like it was unopened.

Sighing, she laid down on her bed and closed her eyes.

Jessica shook her head at the interior of Tipper's home. Mort had Andy there and both men looked up from the pile of feathers that had once been part of Tipper's futon arm rest pillows. Long scratches were on both of their hands and their faces but the lads were now safely tucked in a cat carrier.

Mort looked up, guilty. "It's not as bad as it looks…" he said, his eyes bearing a nervous puppy dog expression.

"I can see that you have it well under control," she said as she placed her hands on her hips. "However, your greater risk is if something happens to Tipper while she is in that competition. "

Mort straightened up. "I would never put her in danger."

"Be that as it may, Mort, Tipper's stumbled onto something…"

He nodded. "I saw the video that she took on the ship, and we checked out Ms Rockland. She's in serious contention to be picked as Ms Maine for the Ms America beauty pageant, but none of her final stats seem to be consistent with what a winner should have for this pageant. She hasn't won anything."

He saw Mrs F. think a moment. "Tipper told me that the math of the money doesn't add up. I did some calculations, Mort, and the prize money verses the income that they have generated from the entry fee as well as the sponsorship money doesn't seem to be enough to cover all of the expenditures."

Mort nodded. "I asked Lucas about that myself, but he assured me that the scholarship was a government grant, and that the big named sponsors, like the car and the boat people, not only had given him the items, but they paid big money to have their names on the air."

"But surely it can't account for all of the money that is being spent on this? Especially since it's considered a local event."

Mort shrugged. "They got the rental of the school for free, and the tour for the whale watch was a promo. Most everything that they are doing in town is at cost, and even Harrison has said that they did pay him in advance to feed the ladies for breakfast. Unless they are running a rigging sheet deal to get back some of the money, they will probably just break even. Unless something happens or someone gets hurt - the event is insured to the bouffant hairdos."

Andy came up for air covered in feathers. "Don't think the mattress on this is salvageable, Sheriff."

Jessica looked from Mort back to Andy and then back to Mort. "I'm going to go back and do some investigating into the whereabouts of Ms Rockland in all of this."

Mort straightened up. "Be careful. According to Tipper's video, that woman has no hesitation about whacking someone."

"Do you think she was the one who harmed Lucas?" Jessica asked.

Mort shook his head. "Her roommates gave her an alibi."

Jessica arrived two hours before lights out. She knew that she had no official reason to be there, but decided she could bluff her way in on the pretext of informing Tipper about the condition of her house. It was pretty subdued in the school. Most of the girls were asleep, though Tipper was up with a mug of coffee in front of her, sitting at the table with a pad and pencil. There was doodling on it.

Jessica poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from her.

"How bad was it?"

Jessica took a sip and said. "Mort and Andy were taking care of things. I am afraid the futon mattress is a total loss, as well as the living room curtains. The kitchen and the upstairs curtains are fine. The lads gave them what-for as well."

"Ah, well, I got those at the flea market a few years ago. No biggie," she said, shrugging.

Jessica studied her. "Something else the matter? You don't normally doodle unless your stuck on something."

Tipper leaned forward and whispered fiercely, "I don't have enough talent to bail my way out of a sinking canoe with this crowd - and the competition is in two days! What am I going to do?"

Jessica smiled at her. "Webster's definition of talent is 'any natural ability or power.' Knowledge and skill are things that are learned, but natural talent is something that you are born with, that which you eat and breath and incorporate into your every day life."

Tipper waved her hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. "I'm hard-wired to knock people over when I carry groceries…" she said, shaking her head.

"You know, you may use any prop you wish, and of course there is the Tall Tayles by the wharf."

Tipper regarded Jessica. "With everything I have been through, the Tall Tayles is a cake walk, if I can get over …" She hesitated when she saw Jessica looking at her intently. "Public speaking is something that - well, I'd rather wash every pet in Cabot Cove after a skunk battle than speak in front of a crowd of people."

"You will do fine, Tipper. It's not a matter of luck, rather perseverance."

Tipper straightened in her seat. "Maybe it _is_ about luck after all, Jessica," she said softly. She leaned closer to Jessica and said, "Could you do me a favor?"

Nodding, Jessica listened to what she had to say.

It was near curfew when Tipper made her way up the steps and saw her roommates sitting on their beds all looking at Ms Bar Harbor.

"She won't say why she is here," said Ms Freeport, inclining her head to Ms Bar Harbor.

"I don't understand."

"You're here as a favor for a friend, Ms Portland's here because her grandmother's bridge club sponsored her, I'm in this for the school scholarship and Ms Augusta is a pageant lifer - old school, you know - but," she continued, pointing to Ms. Bar Harbor, "she's just clammed up, and word is that there is a rigging sheet contestant in this pageant. It could be her - and those types don't care about the teamwork aspect of the pageant."

Tipper saw Ms Bar Harbor hang her head. She looked like she was ready to cry. Standing up, she went over to Ms Bar Harbor's bed and sat down. Looking down at her hands she saw a thin white band of skin on her left ring finger that Ms Bar Harbor fidgeted with.

"How long were you engaged?" Tipper asked softly.

A gasp came from the other girls as Ms Bar Harbor whispered, "Two years. Two years I waited for it to be the right time - and it never happened. He was just playing me along for a fool. Said I wasn't pretty enough for any other man to want me, so, I cleaned out my savings account and started the circuit to maybe prove him wrong."

Ms Freeport sat on the other side of Ms Bar Harbor. "Oh, honey, you don't have to do anything to prove him wrong, _he_ was wrong."

Tipper moved back off the bed as Ms Bar Harbor's water works began. Ms Freeport hugged her as she cried and looked over the young girl's shaking shoulders to Tipper.

By the time lights out had been called, Ms Bar Harbor was fast asleep, a look of relief on her face. Ms Freeport was the next to fall asleep, but Tipper couldn't. She got up and padded her way over to the window where she leaned against it looking out over the moonlit night.

She felt a brush against her shoulder and looked at Ms Portland, who had joined her. "Arm chair detective on the side?" she asked.

Shaking her head, Tipper continued to look out over the town. "I sometimes wonder what was the single moment of my life that changed everything for me… and I've concluded that it happened in front of the Mini Mart, about ten years ago… when I found myself picking egg out of a young woman's hair and saying, "Ohh that's going to leave a stain.' She has six kids now."

"And you regret not being busy in the way that she is?"

"Oh no no no… no little busies for me," Tipper said, grinning.

She saw Ms Portland grin as well. "Yeah. I can relate to that," she said "So, any other regrets?" she asked, curious.

The look of pain that flashed in Tipper's eyes, the flinch at the memory of the gunshot, brought tears to her eyes. She closed them and bit her bottom lip. "One or two," she said finally.

Their attention was directed to a taxi pulling up to the school and from the angle that they stood, they could just see that it was Lucas returning.

"Should be an interesting morning, it seems?" quipped Ms Portland. Sighing, both she and Tipper returned to their beds.

The morning was abuzz with Lucas's return. He made a brief announcement that he had simply slipped and fell, nothing more. Tipper was on her second waffle when Jessica entered and gave her a nod. For the first time since her arrival Tipper felt relief.

They were dressed in the overalls, the same ones as before, though Tipper had taken time before she had returned hers to wash them in the laundry facilities of the school as well as her roommates'. They were the only ones who did - the others got back their things as they had left them, with bits of chum and other material stuck to them. There was a mad dash to the laundry, and wails from the girls when they realized there wasn't going to be enough time to get them washed and properly dried.

Some took a bolder way out, and shoved them in the laundry tub with some soap and dunked them a half dozen times before shoving them in the dryer.

Ms Portland leaned on Ms Freeport's shoulder. "We feed the town tomorrow, don't we?"

Ms Freeport nodded. "I have this figured out, ladies. The men are looking for wives."

The five of them were the only ones laughing when they made their way to the track for the Cod Relay. Tipper pulled the neoprene gloves from her pocket and gave a pair to all of the girls.

"It said for us to wear gloves, it didn't specify which ones. In the other races, they use the biggest cod they can - hence the big gloves – but knowing this group, we probably are going to get the bait-sized ones. Best way to hold and pass them is to grab them by the gills," she said in a low, confident tone.

"And you've done this before?" asked Ms Bar Harbor.

"Nope, Eric told me when he was asking how you were doing…" said Tipper with a bit of a grin in her voice. She saw Ms Bar Harbor blush, then her whole face broke out into the biggest grin.

"Now you look beautiful!" said Ms Freeport to Ms Bar Harbor.

"Oh shut up!" she giggled.

Jessica watched the five girls from the booth with Lucas and his sister watching at the far corner of the booth. The media was quick to focus on them, lingering on the smiling Ms Bar Harbor.

"She's a bit green to represent the state…" Jessica over heard Lucas say to Maureen

"Would you rather have one with an uncontrollable temper who hasn't worked to get a single point? Just be thankful I went over the wording even if you didn't."

The barrel of cod was rolled out. Thankfully they had been placed on ice, and were still fresh. They would run them in groups of five - each girl had to run a quarter mile around the track before passing it off to her teammate. She saw Tipper reach into the barrel and pull out a fish in front of the media. They saw her puzzled expression as she opened up the mouth of the fish and reach down its throat to pull out a string of weights.

"Hang on…" she said, raising her eyebrow. "What's up with stuffing the fish?" she asked. A weighted fish would mean more difficulty in carrying it the distance, as well as the chance that the gills would rip away from the jaw while they were running.

"Just makin' them the same weight as what we normally have…" one stammered.

"I dunno, seems a bit _fishy_ to me…" said Ms Portland.

"Holy Mackerel!" intoned Ms Freeport.

"Guess they did it for the _halibut_…" replied Ms Bar Harbor.

" Caught - hook, line… and sinker," finished Ms Augusta.

Mumbling, the men quickly removed the lead weights that were hooked to the jaw and handed them out to the first set of teams. Ms Freeport cradled the fish, one hand tucked in the gills, the other hand holding its tail. She didn't want to give away the stratagems that they had decided on, and as the other walked to their positions, she saw that Ms Rockland wore a look of pure contempt for Ms Bar Harbor and Ms Cabot Cove.

Jessica heard the sound of the starter's pistol and watched the girls begin the race. Harrison had informed her that several of the girls had shopped at his store, the ones from Tipper's room the day of the whale watch, and then some others looking for flat shoes, or tennis shoes like what Tipper was wearing. He didn't have shoes, he had explained - sweat shirts and baseball caps, yes, but shoes, no. After they had left, Molly had said to him, "That ugly went to the bone Dad…" Harrison agreed, and had privately told Jessica that he really felt that the lifestyle up here was positively influencing Molly.

The first hand-off went smoothly enough; it was at the second hand-off that something made Ms Bangor bobble as she started her jog. She did manage to get the fish to Ms Rockland before going to the center of the field and sinking to her knees. It was enough of a bobble to give Tipper a few seconds' head start and she ran with her heart pounding in her ears. Passing her fish off to Ms Bar Harbor she watched her sprint off in the lead then turned her head to see a blur just before Ms Rockland slammed into her. She managed to grab onto Ms Rockland as they tumbled to the ground and as they rolled, she felt Ms Rockland's nails dig into her arm through the sleeve of the overalls. Tipper used the momentum to roll both of them off of the track out of the way of the other girls to where the grass area was. Glancing down she saw that all of her pins were accounted for, though it was evident that Ms Rockland had made a grab for her sash. Tipper looked down at Ms Rockland, who had hit her head pretty hard. The cod had been passed. She didn't know who had won - nothing was posted.

Eric and the other EMT's were beside them in a second. "You okay, Tipper?" Eric asked her. "Cripes, your bleeding…" he said pushing her to a sitting position.

She looked at her arm where he was pointing. "She grabbed my arm ..." Tipper mumbled, watching them lift Ms Rockland on to a gurney.

Several hours later Tipper sat on her bed in her dorm room. Mort knocked, then entered the room and regarded her bandaged arm.

"How is she?" Tipper asked, seeing the grim expression on Mort's face.

"Well enough to call a foul on you, claiming that you crossed into her lane. Except she wasn't counting on the news crew filming each of the handoff points. You were still in your lane, and she crossed into yours, with intent to harm you. She used pieces of a box cutter glued to the underside of her fake nails - she said it was to get a better grip on the fish, but when she accepted the handoff from Ms Bangor, one of the nails cut her hip through the suit. It's why she went down in the center field. She will be all right. Ms Rockland, though… Well, the Murrays don't see anything wrong with what she did. She is saying she only grabbed your arm when she was falling, and maybe that's true. Andy sort of told her that you have taken out people who were less of a bother than she was, then asked me, 'What's her count up to now, Sheriff? Twenty-seven?' I had to think and then told him, 'If you count the ones she's bumped off for getting in her way, then it's thirty-four.'"

Tipper placed her hands over her face. "Oh, Mort!"

He grinned. "Oh, come on, Angela. I was teasing. You've only bumped off thirty."

"Not funny," she said, but couldn't help but to grin herself.

Mort patted her hand and stood up as Ms Bar Harbor entered the room. She cast a nervous glance at Mort then came up to Tipper's bedside.

"The Cod Relay is finally finished. We have the fastest score by about fifteen seconds, but Ms Rockland's room has contested the results - they would have come in fifth anyway, but if it's upheld, we lose ten seconds. She keeps saying you fouled her, and now she's saying you threatened to bump her off, and the judges are taking it very seriously!"

Tipper hit Mort with a spare pillow.

"I will speak with the judges," he sighed.

Mort had a heck of a time convincing the judges, and Ms Rockland had been in a state of hysterics until Mort called her in and sat her down and asked if she wanted to fill out a police report against Tipper. He saw a gleam in her eye as she recounted her version of what happened on the boat, and she said that with Ms Cabot Cove's reputation for bumping off people, it was only a matter of time before she came after Ms Rockland.

"So, she didn't that she was going to hurt you on the field - you were knocked out when the EMTs came to you it would have been a little hard to hear what she was saying…"

"She threatened me before, on the boat!"

Mort sighed, and pulled out a chip from his pocket as well as his own camera. "Seeing how I have a recording of that incident, let's let the judges decide it for themselves…"

The words out of Ms Rockland's mouth were decidedly unlady-like and she took a swing at Mort, striking him as she grabbed for the camera. Mort caught her before her second blow hit, and twisted her arm around to her back, pulling out his handcuffs.

"Assaulting an officer is a class one felony, Ms Rockland. So is falsifying a police report. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right to an attorney…"

"You can't do this to me! I have a contract!" she yelled. Mort saw the judges look amongst each other nervously.

"Is this really necessary, Sheriff? The publicity…" the first one said.

"Page 15, paragraph 3, line 17. 'Any contestant found with intent to do harm to another contestant via physical harm or verbal abuse shall forfeit all claims to the competition, as well as voiding any and all previous contracts. Any said contestant arrested during the issue of competition for any grounds shall be excluded in any and all events and shall forfeit her right to compete in events for her state in excess of ten years.' I did a background check on you, Ms Rockland. You pulled this stunt four times already in as many states, two of which led to permanent disfigurement of the contestants involved. I am _not_ going to allow that to happen here."

Somehow, Mort knew that the judges were not going to argue with him anymore.

Tipper was glad that she had decided to wear long sleeves the next day. Her roommates knew about what had happened, and the judges had awarded their room as the first place winners. Mort had promised that Ms Rockland would be locked up at least until after the competition was over, and the circuit judge, after reviewing the evidence, agreed. He also informed Tipper that her one call was made to Lucas Murray, who had told her tersely that she had broken contract and she was on her own.

After the talent competition, they would announce the fifteen runners-up. Tipper looked about the breakfast room. Word was that they had switched the talent competition to the field so that they could accommodate everyone who wanted to purchase a ticket. Tipper opted to be wired for a mike, and spent time going over in her head what she hoped to do.

They were going alphabetical, leaving Ms Augusta with her tap routine, and Ms Bar Harbor who was going to sing, ahead of her. Glancing at her watch, she realized she hadn't seen Jessica all day, and threw a questioning glance at Harrison. He shrugged. Breathing deep, Tipper knew she could pull it off with out the prop she needed, but it would be more difficult.

"Time, ladies!" said Maureen, sweeping in the room. She looked at Tipper who, while she wasn't wearing jeans, was dressed in dockers and a nice blouse, and she had a white jacket over her arm with her sash over it as well. No sense in giving away what she was doing, but Maureen didn't say anything. She glanced around the room, and as she departed she asked one of the people in the hall, "Have you seen Lucas?" there was a negative response.

Tipper was in the first five that went down to the field through the tunnel from the school. When Ms Augusta went out, followed by Ms Bangor who was busy brushing her long brown hair 'one last time,' Tipper took a breath, and placed her lab jacket on, then the sash. The news crew member who was fussing with the mikes looked a bit surprised. "You really are a real doctor?" he asked.

Tipper nodded. Her heart was pounding in her chest. To her relief, she heard Jessica outside introducing Ms Augusta. The sound man moved on. She saw Ms Bar Harbor looking distressed, and her pacing was only making Tipper's own nerves even worse.

"Hey, hey… It's okay. You will do great," she said, patting Ms Bar Harbor's hand.

"But, there are so many people … I don't know any of them."

Tipper gave her a warm smile. "I know most of them. And they are really good people. Even when you totally flub this, which I know you will, they'll still give you a standing ovation."

"Me? Flub this? I have practiced this in my sleep! Flub – THIS?" Then she saw Tippers grin. "Oh…" she said, giggling now. "Thanks."

Tipper thought to herself, "They don't have to live here, or make a living seeing these people each day. If _I_ flub this…" She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes as Ms. Bar Harbor went out and Ms Bangor came in brushing right past Tipper as if she wasn't there.

It was the longest nine and a half minutes that Tipper had ever had to endure. She took a final deep breath and as Ms Bar Harbor was thanking people, she headed to the entrance of the tunnel. The place was packed. There were several news crews parked in the outfield, and a quick scan of the crowd didn't tell Tipper anything. Taking another breath, she walked to the stage area and up the steps. Jessica was there and she was smiling at Tipper. Aware that the cameras were on Tipper, she flashed Jessica a smile, with a questioning glance. Jessica gave her a little nod, and Tipper's grin became bigger as relief flooded through her. While she didn't see the requested prop, Jessica's nod had informed her that it had arrived. Crossing the stage she went to Jessica and formally shook her hand.

A table had been placed on the stage. Tipper went to it, and for the first time, she turned to the audience.

"Hello everyone, I am Ms Cabot Cove, and I would like to share with you tonight something that someone has informed me is my talent, and that is communication. As many of you know, while I am a vet, my charity is the children's ward. They say a true healer can see beyond what is spoken within the world, and see what is beneath to heal with their hearts. Tonight, I will require, the assistance of a member of the audience…" she said, walking to the edge of the stage. Looking down, she saw in the front row Grady, Ruth, Donna, and Frank Jr, whose hand held a leash that was tucked under the chair.

"You, young man, would you and your companion like to assist me tonight?" she asked, pointing to Frank. He nodded, and wearing a grin he got up and gave a tug on the leash. Lucky came out from behind the chairs and looked at Tipper. For a second Lucky wagged her tail, then she froze. Her hips went down, and she refused to budge. There was a nervous chuckle from the audience.

Frank didn't tug on her leash, he just looked to Tipper. "She's knows she's due for her s – h – o – t –s," he spelt out.

Tipper focused on Lucky. Her voice went up several octaves as she bent down a bit. "Has Lucky been a good doggie? Yes she has! Yes she has!" Lucky's ears perked up. Her hips rose from the ground and she fell into step with Frank as he went up the stage steps. While waiting for them, Tipper explained. "This is Frank Fletcher, Mrs. Fletcher's great nephew, and his dog Lucky." She paused then continued, "Dogs like high noises, in short durations. Yips of excitement tell more to a dog than a deep warning bark. She knows that if I tell her that she's been a good doggie, its not all bad." Lucky walked over to where Tipper was, and allowed herself to be picked up and placed on the table. Her tail went between her legs for a moment, then she settled down and laid on the table.

"I would like to introduce you to Lucky, She is a Springer spaniel born to Midnight and Beasley several years ago, being the runt of the litter. When she survived the first forty-eight hours, she was named Lucky by her owners Louise and Bert Davis. She is classified as an indoors companion dog who has her good citizenship papers and is working on her service dog certification. Lucky is perhaps the most, outstanding reason why I am here tonight. Not only because she's a dog and I'm a vet, but also because of her first owner, Callahan Davis."

Methodically, Tipper's hands moved over Lucky in a practiced fashion checking her ears, her eyes, opening her mouth to look at her teeth and moving down her legs to feel for any displacements. Taking a breath Tipper continued. "There are weeks where nothing goes right. There are days that the clinic smells like skunk, or the floors are littered with porcupine needles as we dequill countless mouths, paws and backsides. Lucky, by the way, holds Cabot Cove's record for being dequilled seven times in one summer. It is suspected it was the same porcupine. Lucky's bragging rights also include four wallets, a screen door, two sets of wooden steps, a watch, and the complete set of _Dynasty_ VCR tapes, surprisingly leaving only the cat fight between Krystle and Alexis intact." Tipper waited for the chuckling from the audience to settle before she moved on.

"As in most professions we are taught a level of detachment in dealing with both people, and animals. We are there to see the animals born, we are with them throughout their lives, and we are most often there to judge the final passage of life - issues such as are they in pain, are they eating, can they move without distress and do they have a quality of life that is best for them. In all of this, we, as vets, have learned how to communicate with the animals who cannot speak for themselves. We must ask the questions, we must find the answers, and it is up to us to know when it is time to say goodbye . "

Taking another breath Tipper looked at Lucky. She had rolled over and laid on her back for her tummy to be rubbed. "No fleas today, thank you very much please," Tipper said in the same high cartoon voice. Lucky sneezed twice before rolling back over to put her legs under her.

"I know you're all curious, how could a dog be a reason why I am here." She stopped, and looked at the audience. "Callahan Davis was forever bringing Lucky into the clinic because of all the things she got into, and because she was the runt, she was special in his eyes. She was little, like he was, and where he went, Lucky would follow. They ate together, they played together, and they slept together. They even shared the summer of the flea baths. No matter what the hour, no matter how many days we had worked straight, if Cal thought something was wrong with Lucky we would see both of them right away. He would sit up on the table beside her, telling her it would be okay while we checked her out, and his giggle was infectious. The only time that they were apart was when they traveled, and they would reluctantly place her into a kennel where she would howl until they returned. It didn't stop her from eating five kennel doors and getting into the containers of kibble that they had for the other dogs, though."

Tipper paused, and felt tears sting the back of her eyelids as she continued with a soft firm voice. "Callahan Davis was five years old when a tractor trailer crossed lanes without warning, causing his family's car to go end over end eight times. His head struck the door, and the seat belts that were to protect his body instead caused massive internal injuries when they didn't give enough to absorb the impact. Cal was aware of what happened, and that his parents were in the OR ahead of him. He lived for three hours while waiting to be taken into surgery, but given the extent of the injuries, and the hospital needing specific child sized instruments, tubes, and life saving machines, Cal died. I knew, then, that if I could change one thing, it would be to see that never would happen again."

Lucky looked up at Tipper and gave a mournful howl. Tipper breathed in and scratched Lucky on the ribs. "I miss him too, Lucky," she said softly, Lucky laid her head on her paws and gave a small whine that was picked up by the mike.

"Lucky reminds us all about love, and devotion, and the unspoken language that exists between pets and their owners. That nothing is impossible if we try, and we must try each day to see the world through the eyes of the innocent, through those who can't speak for themselves. We must be able to hear what they say."

Tipper was about to continue when her hand that continued to pet Lucky's side encountered something. "Frank… did, Lucky get outside by herself awhile back?"

Frank looked at Lucky then at Tipper. "Only for a little bit… she took off after Skipper, the Johnson's dog, when he got into our yard… She wasn't gone too long, though…"

Tipper picked up Lucky's muzzle from her paws and looked directly at her. " I see you have very good taste in young men, Lucky, but we did discuss this before…"

Frank looked at Tipper a bit confused, then he looked at Lucky, seeing her changing figure for the first time. "Uh oh…"

Lucky looked at Tipper with a 'well, he was cute, what do you expect?' look and then she rose to a sitting position, pressed next to Tipper and standing on her back legs, gave Tipper a hug while licking her face. "I love you too, Lucky," she managed to say. Then looking over Lucky's shoulder she said, "And that… says it all. Thank you," she said to Frank as she helped Lucky down.

"Puppies? Really? How soon?" Franks excited voice was picked up by the mike.

"Soon," Tipper said as they cleared the stage. Frank went back to his parents, who were deep in conversation amid the clapping from the audience.

Tipper made her way through the tunnel where the media guy unclipped her mike, then she joined Ms Augusta in what had been made the green room. The two of them were alone in the room throughout the following act, then were joined by Ms Freeport when she had finished, and Ms Bangor who looked like she had dunked her head into a bucket to cool off. Her long flowing hair was now in a tight knot on the top of her head, and it looked like she had sweated off all of her makeup, which she took the opportunity to re-do.

"Where is Ms Bar Harbor?" Tipper asked.

Ms Augusta shook her head. "I think she's throwing up in the ladies' room. She was okay until after she made it into the tunnel, then she sort of hyperventilated and made a bolt there." She indicated to one of the monitors where Ms Ellsworth was playing the flute. "He really likes you," she said, pointing to the crowd shot of the front row.

"Frank?" Tipper gave a smile as Ms. Augusta nodded.

"He couldn't take his eyes off of you the whole time you were speaking."

Tipper looked at Ms Augusta. "Frank is alive because the medical help he needed was available when he needed it," she said evenly.

Tipper checked her watch. Not that she was worried, but they were told that when they were done, they had to either be in the ladies' room, or in the green room and be available for any and all post-event interviews. Ms Bar Harbor hadn't returned.

Bringing herself to her feet, Tipper moved across the room to the door and went down the hall to the ladies' room. She was about to go in when she saw something dark under the door of the men's room. She took a step to knock and then open it, but the splash of red pooling under the door caused her to step back. Tipper slipped her cell phone from her pocket, and dialed Mort's number with shaking hands.

Mort had been in the audience when the call came in. A few people gave him looks for having his cell on, but he ignoring them as he stood up and strode to the back of the bleachers where he knew he could access the school's side door and join Tipper by the men's room. He had dialed Doc Hazlitt on the way across the field and knew that it would be a good five minutes before he could get there.

Tipper did everything she could to preserve the evidence, and to determine what had happened without causing alarm. When Mort arrived, she pointed to the door, and the puddle which had begun to leak out. Mort took a breath and carefully pushed open the door without touching the handle.

The light was off in the bathroom. Mort turned on his flashlight and Tipper heard something like someone crying coming from the room. There was blood on the floor, and the shattered body of Lucas Murray sprawled between the door and Ms Bar Harbor, who was huddled under the sink with her arms wrapped about her legs but her hands over her eyes. Using the edge of his flashlight Mort found the light switch and turned it on. Lucas had been shot twice in the chest, and once in the head. Judging from the position of the body, he had entered to wash his hands and been surprised from behind. Mort found a safe path past the blood and scanned the rest of the room for the gun. Not finding it he turned and found Tipper had moved in to Ms Bar Harbor, whose hands were still over her eyes. Her cell phone had fallen from her pocket and laid out of reach for her. Sighing, Tipper picked it up and tucked it into Ms Bar Harbor's top pocket.

"Hey, its okay…" Tipper said gently.

"It hurts," she whimpered.

Tipper carefully pulled Ms Bar Harbor's hands away from her face. Her eyes were tightly closed and there was evidence of powder burns from a gunshot that had sprayed across her face and her eyes. "Can you tell me what happened?" Tipper asked gently.

"I felt sick, and I didn't want the others to see me .. so I came in here. I heard someone else come in, and the sound of a stall door banging. The lights went out, and I came out to find out why when there was an apple sound and a flash.. It hurts," she began to whimper into her hands again. "I got down, and backed into here and the apple kept falling…"

"Great, all of Cabot Cove is here…any number of girls could have done it."

"Mort, this area was closed off to the public. Only the people who were called to be on stage, and who had already been on stage, have access to this area, and that's just four contestants, not including the media or Maureen."

Mort looked at Ms Bar Harbor. It was doubtful that she would have pulled the trigger in a way to flash blind herself, and there was no trace of the gun.

"The media travels in packs - it's doubtful that one of them would have time to slip away and do this." Mort got on his phone and called Andy to notify the EMTs that they had someone who needed medical help. Carefully Tipper lead Ms Bar Harbor out of the men's room to where Eric was waiting for her with a gurney. The first thing he did was place a cool wet towel over her eyes.

"If any one asks, you're recovering from a migraine," he said into her ear. She nodded and let them wheel her into one of the rooms for more private care.

Mort looked at Tipper as the door was closed between them and Ms Bar Harbor.

"Ideas?"

Tipper took a breath. "I know this is a live event, Mort - I know that these girls' livelihoods depend on this, and a scandal would finish everything for them. In a few minutes they are going to have a twenty minute intermission where Maureen is going to give the sponsorship speech, and that frees up Jessica to help figure this out. Yes, I might have an idea."

Mort had Andy string the crime scene tape in the area of the rest rooms, then closed the fire doors so that the media wouldn't see what was going on, blocking that area off.

Jessica was just finishing introducing Maureen when she saw Frank get a phone call, and look at her. When she was done, she walked off the stage and went to Frank to give him a hug, and pat Lucky on the head.

"Tipper said since we don't have Oliver here, we need Lucky…and asked if you could take her to where the tunnel is."

Tipper met Jessica at the entrance of the tunnel, and gave Lucky a pat on the head. Quickly Tipper filled Jessica in on what had happened. Nodding, Jessica let Tipper return to the green room that now had almost a dozen girls in it. The girls were chatting about who had dropped things, and how someone was off key. Tipper's eyes swept the room. Ms Portland was sipping coffee, Ms Bangor had buried herself into a book that someone had left on one of the tables. Ms Freeport was doodling on a napkin. Ms Augusta was looking out the window, a far away look in her eyes.

Tipper moved over to where she was. In the light of the window, Tipper noticed for the first time the lines on Ms Augusta's face, the peeking of gray hairs worked into her blond, how thin the skin on her hands looked , and the smudges of something that chipped her impeccable nail polish. She was beautiful, but like a rose, her glory was beginning to fade.

"Did you find her?" she asked quietly. Tipper nodded. "Eric's with her now. I don't think she's going to be continuing the pageant."

Ms Augusta sighed. "She's lucky - if she had any sense, she should get out while she can."

Tipper nodded. Looking about the room she saw that Ms Bangor hadn't turned the page. The chat in the room ebbed when Jessica and Lucky with Mort entered the room and asked the media if they would step outside for a moment. Mort went to the front of the room. "Ladies, I have some bad news… Lucas Murray has been shot, and from our determination, it was someone in this room. The other ladies have been accounted for, and as this was a closed in area, that pretty much narrows it down to you. I'm just going to do a simple paraffin test on your hands to rule you out. You all will be fingerprinted, then you will go with Mrs. Fletcher to the room next door to have a scent comparison done with Lucky, She's had a proper scent pad that was created at the crime scene. "

Mort pulled a role of wide clear tape from his pocket and some index card that he had borrowed from the supply room. Ms Bangor stood up and walked over to him. "What are you going to do next, Sheriff? Frisk us?"

He regarded her. "As you are volunteering to be the first one, print your full name, then sign the card with your signature."

She curled her lip at him, then sighing she picked up the pen and wrote her name before holding out her hand. Mort took the tape, placed it on the side of her hand and pressed it in before pulling it off. Mort did one across her nails as well before fingerprinting her and pointing her in the direction of the door where Andy stood.

Tipper couldn't help grinning to herself as Ms Augusta murmured softly to her, "My money's on her…" She saw the look of bitterness on Ms Augusta's face for a moment, then she grinned. "You don't think that I could do something like ... murder?" she said privately to Tipper.

Tipper studied her face. "Not without a _really_ good reason."

There was a commotion outside the door. Tipper heard Lucky growl as she never had before, and then there was shouting. Mort reached the door before she did, turned and said to Tipper, "Stay with them." He sprinted down the hall, where she could see Ms Bangor racing barefoot past the startled media. Andy was helping Jessica up, and Lucky was going nuts trying to go after Ms Bangor.

"Lucky, PLUTZ," Tipper said firmly. Lucky's backside hit the floor and she stayed where she was, shaking and whining. Knowing Andy would take care of Jessica, Tipper closed the door to where the girls were now in a state of uproar. Raising her voice she told everyone to sit down, and that they would continue to do the fingerprinting and paraffin test. When she was done, she handed the results over to Andy in a bag, then sat down next to Ms Augusta, who looked troubled.

Except for Ms Bangor being taken away by the Sheriff, and Ms. Bar Harbor being taken to the hospital, the media was unaware of anything else happening. The girls finished their talent routines and then headed inside the green room where food now had been laid out.

Jessica came in and went to Tipper. "Mort found out after he chased Ms Bangor down the hall that she was on probation for stalking other pageant winners and illegal drug use and had been banned from competing for ten years, something the Murrays overlooked on her application. No gun has been found, and no one had gun powder residue on their hands. It was smart thinking to bluff with Lucky as a police dog. Maureen has been adamant about keeping the pageant continuing, even with her brothers death. She's asked Mort not to release the information to the press just yet. He's agreed, only because he would rather keep everyone here until he's able to arrest the murderer, or murderess." She paused for a moment to study Tipper. "You know as well as I do, that there is only one person who had a reasonable explanation for having gunpowder residue on them," she said gently.

Tipper looked at Jessica as if she had been struck in the chest. For a moment she thought about what Jessica had said. "There wasn't a gun in there, Jessica - we searched everything, all the bins, even the tanks. Nothing. The only thing I did see in there was her cell phone that had fallen out of her pocket."

Jessica looked puzzled. "Why would she risk carrying a cell phone?" she asked.

Tipper shrugged. "I presumed that it was her cell phone. Maybe it was Lucas's. You're right, she wouldn't have gone onstage with it on, and risk it going off, or being caught with it and losing points."

"If she does have it, it would be in her personal effects at the hospital," Jessica said. "They are keeping her at least overnight. I will let Seth know to keep an eye out for it."

The tired girls wandered up to their rooms. Most of them didn't have a clue as to what had happened. Mort and Jessica had done their best to keep the events quiet. In Tipper's room though, with the absence of Ms Bar Harbor, the girls knew Tipper had the answers.

They sat on their beds, waiting for her to come in, then Ms Portland said, "So somehow you have an 'in' with the local police and Mrs. Fletcher… I would expect the great JB Fletcher to have a handle on things, but according to what you have told us, you're just a vet. We honestly don't think your _just_ anything."

Ms Augusta came over and sat on the other side of Tipper. "So, we can't sleep, we know your not in the regular circuit, and we want to know who you are, and what the heck you're doing here. Why did the Sheriff call you 'Tipper' when your name's Angela, for starters."

Tipper bit her bottom lip. " Oh… that. Well, it's simple enough - I guess it was an inner ear thing that was throwing off my balance, and I had a habit of banging in to people and things and my parents started calling me Tipper. The name stuck. And it's not like I get involved with stuff, but, well, Mrs. Fletcher is an author, and she's solved a fair few mysteries, and sometimes I sort of get sucked into some of it. Not willingly, of course. But for a quiet town, a lot of stuff has happened that's not been good."

"You were involved in a treasure hunt… someone died during it, didn't they?"

Tipper made a face. "If I got into that tonight, you wouldn't be able to sleep. How about I save that for the morning light?"

Dawn came a bit too early for Tipper's liking. It was an overcast day that threatened rain, but with New England at this time of year you could never tell. While the girls had been a bit persistent for more details, they had respected her decision not to go into too much detail. It was about six in the morning when she got out of bed and headed to the showers, then back to her room to change. In her bag was a star that was new. It had a number on the back - the number 4. Looking at all of the other pins she had, all of them had the same number on them. Pulling on her shoes, Tipper went down to the dining area. Not surprisingly she was the first one in for breakfast.

Harrison had his eggs ready to go. He regarded her and handed her a cup of coffee, then said quietly as he prepared her usual, "Ms Bar Harbor will be fine. They didn't find the cell phone in her personal effects, though - Mort had the area searched in the hospital, and here, and found nothing. The only other person she came in contact with before she was placed in the ambulance was Maureen Murray. I know you like her, Tipper, but…"

"But what?"

Harrison hung his head. "She's a lot like my ex-wife. Mort's looking into who her ex-boyfriend is - he may be able to shed some light on what's really going on."

"I am usually pretty good at being a judge of character, Harrison…"

He held up his hands. "I know. But my ex-wife would have had even Jessica fooled – it's just something that I've got a bad feeling about. The only good thing is that she's done for the competition - the doctors are going to keep her under observation for the next week, to determine how extensive the damage is. They did say that the direction of the powder was different than what she said. But it's not like she was holding a gun when it was done. That's what has Mort so puzzled."

The conversation moved on to Molly's continued treasure hunt. The locksmith who had come out had taken a look at the lock and said that there was a specialized key for that type of lock, and that he remembered that you could get the key if you wrote to the company with a picture and the numbers off of the lock itself. The company had agreed to send them a copy of one, but it would take about ten days to get it. Molly was crawling up the walls with anticipation. Gretchen had a pretty fair idea that it might be the money mentioned in the second set of books, and Mort had said that chances were it was money from when the previous owner was charging for the reloading fees of the darts, and for black powder reloading. Mort had checked with the local circuit judge who said that depending on the amount, while they would probably have to declare it on the income taxes, because the money was sold within the building itself, the money would be able to be claimed. Then again, it could be anything. He looked seriously at Tipper. "Chances are, it was what Brad was after when he came into the shop the day he shot me."

Molly came into the room carrying a box of condiments and napkins to refill her father's stock. "Hey dad! Guess what they are making in the center of the field? A huge mud pit! Hello, Dr. Henderson!"

"Well, it is the Mud Festival," said Tipper.

Molly shrugged. "I guess, but the men doing it were acting, well, goofy."

Both Harrison and Tipper looked at each other, then Harrison asked, "Goofy – how?"

She shrugged again. "Like it's, well, funny. They said something about wrestling."

Harrison heard Tipper make a noise in her throat. It wasn't quite a growl, or a roar, but if anything, he recognized it as a sound that meant extreme danger to any male. His wife had often made those sounds before she would fly into a rage. Molly had heard it too - her eyes got big as she backed up a step. She swallowed. "Uh… I have to go and help Aunt Gretchen."

Tipper realized that the sound she had made had alarmed Molly. She stood and went to her. "It's okay, Molly. I am not upset with you."

Molly nodded "I know… and I know you're not upset with my dad, either…I sorta understand the whys, though." Tipper nodded, then Molly gave her a hug before heading out the door.

She turned and went to Harrison, her eyes narrowed. "Harrison, please tell all the men who thought that mud wrestling between contestants here was a good idea, that should their wives find out what they had planned, they will have more trouble than they can handle. And I will personally call every single one of the numbers I have on speed dial, starting with the ladies of Loretta beauty shop…"

He held up his hands in surrender. "I will let them know, and suggest that they come up with a compromise, one that they should demonstrate that they would be willing to do themselves."

Tipper nodded. A few girls straggled in, including her roommates who all smiled at Harrison. Ms Augusta sat down next to Tipper. "One of the other rooms was passing a message along. Because of Lucas's death, they are cutting short the pageant - pretty much today and tomorrow will be it. They have dropped a few of the events, and combined others. They couldn't get specific on things, but they said that after breakfast we will be having a meeting with Maureen, and go from there."

While the girls ate, Tipper glanced around to see how many pins they had, and how many stars were on them. Granted, Tipper had every single pin - it wasn't for points, though: the votes would come from the judges, and the people who were voting online. There was the popular vote that held fifty percent of the chances that the girls had to win this, and she had no idea where she stood.

They would take a day to finish rehearsing the dance number, and the final day of event schedule. It would start off with their dance number, then the bathing suit competition where they would have the first round of voting. All the girls would wear the same bathing suit style. After that they would announce the top ten, and then they would have the event in the field, followed by time for the girls to shower and dress for the evening gown competition, and the naming of the winners. They had about half an hour before practice began.

Sliding out of her chair Tipper found herself walking in the direction of the field. She was all the way to the steps down when she heard the click of high heels behind her. Ms Augusta hurried up to her. "I am so in," she whispered excitedly to Tipper.

"Pardon?" Tipper whispered back.

"You know something," she said, pushing the door open for Tipper then pulling her into the stairwell before anyone could see them.

"Maybe," she said. The two of them worked their way down the steps to the lower level, then down the hall to the stairwell to the outside tunnel to the field. She backtracked down to the men's room and opened the door, which was now free of police tape. The blood had been cleaned up, and the repairs done to fix the tile. Using a pen light, she looked down the drain for a glint, but saw none.

"What is it?" Ms Augusta asked.

"There should have been shell casings… there wasn't enough time to clean them up, and the gun wasn't found… and no one heard anything," she said, puzzled.

"Maybe it was the type of gun that didn't use shells. You know, the ones the gang members make out of a bar of soap? A… oh, what's the name they use… A zip gun. It's pretty much a rubber band that propels the bullet," Ms Augusta mused.

"How on earth do you know that?" asked Tipper, curious.

Ms Augusta hung her head. "My younger brother had a creative child hood," she said simply.

"Can other things be used to make these zip guns?" Tipper enquired.

Ms Augusta nodded. "Anything, really - lipstick tubes, makeup cases, even cell phones, that's why the airport x-rays them."

Together the two of them walked to the field where Mort was overseeing the last of the mud being put in place. She strode to him.

"Now Tipper, I can explain…" he said, backing up upon seeing her expression.

"Later," she said as the rain began to fall. "I have something you should know."

Outside, the mud got muddier as the girls rehearsed the dance number. Things were going well until Tipper turned a bit too early and the girl next to her, who was in the middle of a song, missed the cue to turn altogether. While Tipper hadn't actually touched them, three of the contestants went over the edge of the stage into the band pit, including the singer. Amid the shrieks and moans of the girls and the choreographer yelling, "CUT – CUT" Tipper found herself backing up out of harm's way.

He threw his papers down. "There goes the lead singer," he steamed. Somehow, Tipper knew that the lead singer had been too easily picked for the number.

"I know this song," Ms Augusta said, coming forward. She had been across the stage when it had happened, relegated to the chorus.

"Oh, do you?" Claude the Choreographer said in a simpering voice. Tipper saw Ms Augusta tighten her jaw.

"Yes, she does," Tipper spoke up. "And she has an excellent range."

Claude the Choreographer regarded Ms Augusta. His eyes narrowed in contempt. Tipper could see what was going on in his mind. Ms Augusta was – old, perhaps the oldest contestant there. Like a faded rose, she had been pushed to the back to forget her presence. Her time of blossoming had long since withered away and her expectations were at risk of dying altogether. Tipper could see the uphill battle that Ms Augusta had fought.

"Your job is to present the best voices possible to showcase this event. You never even took the time to listen to Ms Augusta sing. If she can't sing her way out of a paper bag, then I stand corrected, but in the meantime sit down, shut up, and let's take this from the top."

It would stand to reason, Tipper thought, that someone who had been in the convention circuit forever would actually know how to sing, how to dance, and how to pull off all of the social graces that were expected. It was with absolute faith that Tipper took her spot with the others and then looked to Ms Augusta for her cue. The music began again, this time with Ms Augusta's soprano lilting through the auditorium. To be fair, opera was perhaps more of what Ms Augusta's voice was ranged for, but she was note perfect for the entire number.

It was perhaps the best rehearsal they had had. Claude stood up. He had been prepared to make cutting remarks that would reduce her to tears and send her running off the stage. She hadn't surprised him, though. He had known all along about her voice and her skills. But it was a competitive world, and he was counting on one of the other girls to come forward asking to claim the Prima Donna spot. To his surprise and dismay, no one did. They crowded around Ms Augusta, congratulating her. She had made it look effortless. Waving his hand, he dismissed them. "Practice is done," he said, then stormed out.

The girls looked at each other, a bit confused. Practice was to have been several hours, at least past lunch, and they had only been at it for two. They still needed more times to go through this, and he had dismissed the band. Tipper sat down on one of the boxes.

"What should we do?" asked Ms Freeport.

"Keep practicing. We don't need him to yell at us; we know when we make a mistake, right? We could even add stuff," said Ms Acadia. She tilted her head. "I bet that's not the only song you know note perfect."

"You want to change what they have planned?" a couple of other girls said, horrified.

Tipper saw the glint in Ms Augusta's eyes. She shrugged. "Why not? Better that than having been written off before we even try on our evening gowns," she said.

Ms Waterville folded her arms. "Okay, Agatha - we all know you know how to do this, but you're hardly an expert on dance numbers…"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. From her leg muscle development, and the way her toes are blocked, I would say Ms Augusta has been on the stage since she was about four…" said Tipper.

"Three and a half, actually," Ms Augusta - Agatha - said softly. "An entire lifetime."

"Which explains why you're not the person who signed the rigging sheets. If you had, you would have won by now," Tipper said suddenly. The girls gasped.

Ms Augusta shook her head. "No. I'm old school, remember? You do good, you get the brass ring. So, you think that Mr. Murray's death was related to the rigging sheets?"

"It's entirely possible." Tipper shrugged. "Let me get Charlie so we have at least some music to dance by," she said, slipping off of the crate. She was able to catch up with Charlie before he went out the door. After explaining the situation to him, they walked back to the auditorium together.

Jessica came into the auditorium and found a seat. She had seen the discussion between Claude and Maureen - a heated one at best. Maureen had kept her voice down and watched as Claude stormed out of the school to his car. Deciding to see what the fuss was about, she had followed her ears down to the auditorium where she saw Charlie sitting at his piano and the girls going through their dance number. Tipper was still bobbling. She couldn't help it - where she was at, there was very little room to dance.

"Wait wait wait…" said Ms. Augusta. "Angela, how much room do you need to dance?" she asked. Her tone was curious, and yet exasperated.

"More than I have in this corner," she said, pointing to the two square feet she had been pushed into by the choreographer.

Taking a breath Ms, Augusta pushed three of the crates together that were on the stage, and then on the other side, repeated it. "With all this stuff, we don't have enough room for everyone – unless we stack them…"

Tipper steadied herself as she climbed on top of the crates. "I have never fallen off a table," she said with a grin.

A few of the braver girls pushed the boxes together in other areas and got up on them as well. Over all, it changed the look of the set. They would have to have cinder blocks as a step for the dance, but that wasn't a problem.

Jessica saw an older woman move down the aisle and slide in beside her. "Where is the choreographer?" Mrs. Beauchampra asked.

"Off in a snit, I suppose. Ms. Augusta has taken over for him, and the girls seem happier for it."

"Oh.. her… no surprise there. Though one does wonder why she hasn't given up already."

"Why would she?" Jessica asked, curious

"She has no hope of ever winning, not after what her brother did."

Jessica blinked a few times. "I would hardly hold whatever her brother's actions were against her."

Mrs. Beauchampra turned and regarded Jessica. "Whomever is chosen must be above reproach for the press. They are the representative of our state, of our values and of our community standards. Any, and I mean ANY stain upon the girl reflects in a negative light upon the pageants all across America, and the world. If she was picked and went on to become Ms Maine, and then Ms America, and then Ms Universe, and it came out that we knew about her brother's actions, the scandal would make us lose our credibility. "

Jessica blinked once. "Yet you allow the scandal of rigging sheets to overshadow the same pageants."

She was given a withering look by Mrs. Beauchampra. "Do you really believe anything that the girls do here makes a difference? That we don't know who is going to win, or should win, before they even come through the door?"

"Is that why Ms. Rockland was so confident that she was going to win this that she didn't even bother to try to win at any of the competitions, and when she did participate, she cheated with the rigging sheet?"

Jessica's question was met with cold silence.

It was an hour later that Mort slid into the seats behind Jessica and slipped her a piece of paper. "It wasn't her cell," the paper said. Nodding, Jessica folded the paper and handed it back to Mort after making a notation on it.

Jessica saw Ms. Augusta take over the afternoon of rehearsal with the girls, guiding them in what would happen with the bathing suit and evening gown shows. There was no sign of any one else to coach them, and while they had been doing some practice, the work that she had been doing fine-tuned everything. Dinner was called before they knew it, but before Jessica got up she leaned over to Mrs. Beauchampra and said, "If I was looking for someone to represent my state, I would hope they knew how many beans made five."

Rising, Jessica went down to where the girls were. They all looked exhausted, yet happy. She walked with them to the cafeteria, and had dinner with them before bidding them goodnight. Once in their rooms Tipper pulled out a tube of lineament and began to rub her sore feet. Soon the whole room smelt like peppermint. She tossed the tube to Ms Augusta who was doing stretching exercises.

"Thanks," she said, stopping and rubbing it on her calf muscles.

"So, who wins, if no one has signed a rigging sheet?" Tipper asked.

She saw Ms Augusta sit up. "This pageant is based on merit, and popular vote. Technically, if there was no popular vote, you would probably be in the top three because you have all of the pins for completing all of the tasks. Well, except the dance number thing, and we don't have the results from the bathing suit or evening gown competitions - and those numbers count for over thirty percent of the score. You can still win, if you have all of the points, but it's the popular vote that can swing it. That's what has been so screwy for the last few years. Girls have worked their hearts and souls out, only to place in the top ten - well like me for example. Other girls like Ms Rockland go on to win, just from the popular vote. We don't see the actual voting process - people go on to a web site, register and then place their votes. It's supposed to be one per household, but its doubtful that it's even accurate. When they first started to have this voting system, my family was right there, and were the first ones to vote, but nothing showed up on the web site for me. My neighbors and relatives tried and it finally showed a 1 to 10 ratio. They called about it, and were told that the numbers don't update right away. The system is whacked."

Tipper grew thoughtful. "Do they still vote for you?" she teased. She saw Ms Augusta smile, and nod.

When the girls grew sleepy from the evening, they tucked into bed and turned out the light. Tipper lay in the dark for a while before pulling her cell phone out of her pocket and sending a text message to Mort.

It was still raining, hard and cold, and the mud in the field looked more muddy than ever. She hadn't got an answer from Mort, and simply put, she knew she wasn't going to be able to keep her cell on her through out the competition. She knew locking it up wasn't safe, though when she went down to breakfast, her answer was to give it and her camera to Harrison, just in case.

"Mud has been postponed until tomorrow - it will be after 'Tales from the Wharf,'" he told her as she scarfed down a pancake and a three egg omelet. "Nervous?" he asked gently.

"I've faced worse."

Tipper rose, then thanking Harrison, she made her way to the changing room where the girls were getting things lined up. Makeup chairs and mirrors had sprung up. Swallowing Tipper grabbed her bag and pulled out a comb. Her hands shook as she tried to get the hair to do a graceful top knot. 'I will not lose it now,' she thought.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and looked up. Ms Portland stood behind her. "Okay, kiddo, lets get you in your war paint," she said to Tipper with a grin. The dark two piece bathing suit made Tipper's skin seem almost translucent behind the pink sash.

Getting in the line up, Tipper tried to remember to breathe. She knew that the people in their homes were watching some of the events, and the pouring rain on the roof sounded like a thousand drums. All Tipper remembered from that moment was hearing her name being called as she walked down the steps, the thunderous applause from the crowd and the flash of bulbs. She didn't fall, or stumble, and after they finished the line up, the names of the top ten were picked.

No surprise, for Tipper at least, as she was the last name called. She heard squeals from Ms Freeport, Ms Portland and Ms Augusta and some others that she didn't remember just then. What had Mort said? She would be making the first cut, that was the given. As they headed into the changing room Tipper felt giddy. She could hear Jessica telling the crowd about the girls, and what they had been doing, and how Ms. Augusta had stepped up and stepped in to the role of choreographer for the evening. She slipped her dress over her bathing suit, and winced as she twisted around to zip it up. She felt a hand on her shoulder to steady her, and then the hands got the zipper and tugged it up.

"Two min before the dance number," said Ms. Augusta. She wore a sad expression on her face. Tipper caught her hand and said looking into her eyes.

"Look, Cabot Cove, isn't like other towns. We fight for what's right, and fair. No matter what the cost."

She saw Ms. Augusta smile. "I know," she said, giving Tipper a honest smile.

Going out on the dark stage Tipper found her mark. 'I can do this,' she thought. She watched Ms Freeport move into her spot, and Ms Augusta. The spotlight followed Jessica as she moved off of the stage and the plaintive piano plunked out the first few notes. The stage was bathed in blue followed by a single spot on Ms Freeport. In a quavering voice she began:

"_Can anybody find me somebody to love? _

_Each morning I get up I die a little _

_Can barely stand on my feet _

_Take a look in the mirror and cry _

_Lord what you're doing to me _

_I have spent all my years in believing you _

_But I just can't get no relief, Lord! _

_Somebody, somebody _

_Can anybody find me somebody to …."_

"_... love,"_ the rest of the girls sang, letting the note linger out a bit.

A second spot fell upon Ms. Augusta and the piano tempo changed as she had been trying on hats:

"_I feel pretty_

_Oh so pretty_

_I feel pretty and witty and gay_

_And I pity_

_Any girl who isn't me today_

_I feel charming_

_Oh so charming_

_It's alarming how charming I feel_

_And so pretty_

_That I hardly can believe I'm real." _

She froze in the spot as it switched back to Ms Freeport, who continued her song:

"_I work hard every day of my life _

_I work till I ache my bones _

_At the end I take home my hard earned pay all on my own - _

_I get down on my knees _

_And I start to pray _

_Till the tears run down from my eyes _

_Lord - somebody - somebody _

_Can anybody find me - somebody to love?" _

"_He works hard," _Tipper heard herself singing as she saw Mort move down the aisle to Jessica with determination on his face. Tipper didn't miss her cue to walk up the cinderblock to the top of the crates. As the spot light switched back to Ms Augusta who was closest to her, she saw Mort look pointedly to someone on the stage, and then back to Jessica as he whispered something in her ear. She saw Ms. Freeport miss a half step, while the spot light was on Ms. Augusta.

"_See the pretty girl in that mirror there?_

_Who can that attractive girl be?_

_Such a pretty face_

_Such a pretty dress_

_Such a pretty smile_

_Such a pretty me!_

_I feel stunning_

_And entrancing_

_Feel like running_

_And dancing for joy_

_For I'm loved_

_By a pretty wonderful boy."_

The girls waved pieces of scarves about as they danced. Tipper could see that something had unnerved Ms. Freeport, but she managed to continue with the song.

"_Everyday - I try and I try and I try - _

_But everybody wants to put me down _

_They say I'm goin' crazy _

_They say I got a lot of water in my brain _

_Got no common sense _

_I got nobody left to believe ..."_

Tipper and the others raised their arm in the air waving it as they sang, _"Yeah - yeah yeah yeah ..."_ She saw Mort take a last look at the stage before going over to the judges and pulling out something. She knew what it was. Proof. She could tell Ms. Freeport was beginning to lose what nerve she had left. Tipper shot Ms Augusta a look as the lights for the whole set came up. It was supposed to continue as a solo for Ms Freeport, but, taking a cue from Tipper, Ms Augusta, Tipper and the other girls continued the song, improvising.

"_Oh Lord _

_Somebody - somebody _

_Can anybody find me somebody to love? _

_Got no feel, I got no rhythm _

_I just keep losing my beat _

_I'm ok, I'm alright _

_Ain't gonna face no defeat _

_I just gotta get out of this prison cell _

_Someday I'm gonna be free, Lord! _

_Find me somebody to love _

_Can anybody find me somebody to love?"_

It was met with thunderous applause. Tipper saw Mort moving to where Maureen was standing. She was looking straight at Ms Freeport, who was frozen on the stage as the curtain began to close. Tipper saw Maureen raise her hand to point at Ms Freeport, and saw her holding her cell phone. A cold shock washed over Tipper as she took a flying leap off of the boxes and pulled both Ms Augusta and Ms Freeport to the stage floor as something whizzed by. Turning her head she saw Mort wrestle with Maureen, bringing her to the ground. As Tipper helped them sit up, she knew with certainty that she knew who had signed the rigging sheet.

"Clumsy me…" she said, helping the two girls up off of the stage floor.

"She…" Ms Freeport began.

Tipper gave her a shake. "She's in custody now," she said, pulling Ms Freeport off of the stage with Ms. Augusta's help.

"We have five minutes before the evening gown," said Ms. Augusta. "Buck up, Carol!" she said, giving Ms. Freeport a shake. "You can do this."

Tipper knew that the audience was watching a screen that held clips from the different events that they had done, narrated by Jessica. The girls had years of practice changing for these events. Five minutes gave them time to get completely dressed and redo their hair if they needed. Tipper slid on her shoes and took a step. Her ankles wobbled. "Not good," she murmured to herself. Taking off the shoes, she straightened up and found all of the girls looking at her. "What?"

She saw Ms. Augusta regarding her. "You're not _just_ a vet," she said, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Okay… I … admit it. I was planted in here to find out what was going on. Mort- had a hunch something wasn't right, and yes, it was still an unrelated favor that got me to do this. He just had a gut feeling something was going to go wrong, and he wanted someone on the inside to make sure no one got hurt."

"You're a police officer?" gasped Ms. Freeport.

"Uh, more like an unpaid deputy upon occasion. I am still a full time vet."

"Have you ... shot any one?" someone else asked.

Tipper hesitated. "Yes…" she finally said. "But only with my tranquilizer gun."

Someone called into the room, "One minute, ladies!"

"Look, whatever does or doesn't happen, at least we know that it's going to be a fair deal," Tipper concluded.

Tipper walked with the others to the back of the stage area and slipped on her shoes. She could see Maureen was missing, and Jessica working her way across the stage as the screen went dark and slipped upwards. They would have to walk up the steps, then down to their spots. She stood behind Ms. Augusta. "Good luck," she whispered to her as she slipped on her shoes.

The curtain came up, the band swelled, and Jessica's clear voice re-introduced the girls as they came down the steps in their evening gowns. 'I can do this,' thought Tipper as she carefully navigated the steps.

When the girls were in place, Jessica turned and smiled at them, and returned her attention to the audience. "Each girl has been given points by the judges for their interactions with the community and with other girls during this pageant. These results helped us determine the top ten contestants, and then the points are cleared to allow tonight's voting. All through the competition the viewers have been able to cast their votes for their favorite, and these votes are compiled by the auditing firm of D & G Inc."

'D& G?' Tipper mused to herself. Who D&G were came to Tipper with certain shock. They had to have found something else then, to bring Donna and Grady into this. There would be the technical matter that she was related to them in a round about way that would disqualify her, but if the results were audited, they would still come out clean.

Tipper shook herself into paying attention to what Jessica was saying about the total point review.

"… will continue on to represent the State of Maine based on the number of points achieved during this pageant."

'So this isn't just a backwater Podunk competition,' Tipper thought to herself. She saw the girls glance about nervously as Jessica was handed an envelope by Donna.

"The results have been tallied…" she said.

"WAIT!" cried Ms. Freeport.

Jessica turned.

She took off her sash, walked over to Jessica, and handed it to her. "I signed a rigging sheet… it wasn't right. Give my votes to Ms. Augusta. She should have been the winner before - and all along. It's people like me that prevented her from getting the crown when she deserved it. I don't," she began. "I don't deserve any of this…"

Looking at Ms. Freeport kindly Jessica said, "We know. It was taken care of before the final voting began." There was relief on Ms. Freeport's face.

She turned and went to walk off the stage and was met by Ms. Augusta. "I'm so sorry," she said to her.

Ms. Augusta took her into her arms and gave her a hug. "It's okay," she said softly.

Resigned, Ms. Freeport walked to where Mort was, and then out with him.

Tipper stood with the others in their beer dresses on the wharf listening to the stories told by her fellow contestants. It had been a mixed surprise of winners. While Ms. Portland had claimed the title of Ms Mud Fest, Ms Augusta (with Grady's and Donna's help digging through past votes) was determined to have enough points to qualify her to represent the state as Ms. Maine. Tipper had placed fifth. She had them make the check out to the hospital, and they told her she could keep the pins and sash as a keepsake. Technically she would have placed sixth if Ms. Freeport had stayed in, but with her withdrawing, it bumped Tipper up a notch. The voting had been tripled checked. Tipper had honestly placed where she did and not because, as Mort had said, "it was a given." The thing with the Mud, whatever the town decided, would be done after the Tales from the Wharf.

"Your turn, Tipper," she heard one of the locals tell her. Taking a breath to steady herself she moved to where the open mike was and stood in the spotlight.

"In a land, far away, there dwelt the wee folk who spent their days in peace learning the healing ways of the lands," she began. She glanced over at Grady, who nodded. There were times that there should be silence, and times when the silence should be broken. "Their leader was called a Mac, a name that in itself some noted with shame, but was known with pride by the clan.

"In time, the locals began to come to the wee folk asking for cures, which were sold for the cost of gold, and later the bride's price of their own daughters. The cures would last only awhile though, before they would have to return and be cured again. The villagers became angry, taking it upon themselves to take the cure by force, but when they opened the jars and tipped out the liquid, it ran blood. Some of the kin of the wee folk remained hidden, and in time, all that they were had almost been forgotten except by a few who continued to hunt the wee folk.

"Ages passed, and that which was thought to had withered sprang up in the new world. The wee folk had found a home in an unlikely spot along the coast of Maine, in a tiny village founded by Captain Cabot. Using the tunnels that the pirates would later inhabit to hide their treasures, the wee folk built a complex network underground that would allow them to travel anywhere they wished without being seen by what they called the large people.

"Here, in Cabot Cove, was called the Gathering spot - where all of the wee ones would come to be born, and to die, our names recorded at birth on the great wall of truth. They brought with them the secret cure that they had worked so long and hard to protect. It was not magic, you see, rather the cure came from water that was pure and unspoiled foods that gave strength to the body to resist the ills of the world. Truth fell into Myth, and Myth fell into Legend and Secrets until all but a few remembered the ways of old. Their children's children were told of the white stones and tall mountains where the graves of those who had passed before now reside. The secrets of the ways, now common practice, were left unsaid to all but a few of us who went on with the art of healing learned so long ago.

We are marked, you see, in ways that are unseen by others. We hear silence and see the wind…" she paused, looking past the crowd, and for a second she let a troubled thought cross and furrow her brow. "We see death, and shadows, and hear the cry of the damned as it is drawn to hell, and yet the same seeing grants us to see the light, and the good upon the earth, Angels, ghosts, beasties. Aye, I've seen them. I've breathed the cure, and looked into the past through the door of death to the gate of heaven and watched my beloved pass through." She stopped, and pulled a small white worry stone out of her pocket and held it in her hands for a moment. "I accept this as truth told to me by my blood clan just as surely as I know my name was placed on the wall the moment I came into this world, and will remain past the days I join the others preserved for all times in the depths of the place of gathering…"

Tipper's story left them enthralled and on the edges of their seats, and looking over their shoulders. At the conclusion to her story, she saw a few of them nodding their heads. Parts – enough parts, for the residents, would make sense. They were given enough of the back story by Tipper to understand now what had happened, why it had happened, and that it was over now. It was a tale that would be retold, one best not forgotten, yet it put the ghosts to rest. Turning the hot seat over to the next girl Tipper grabbed a drink and faded to the back where the ocean met the dock, and felt a gently bump behind her. It was Ms Augusta.

"Thank you, for everything you've done," she said softly.

Tipper shrugged. "Eh, it was interesting," she said with a grin. "I understand the sponsors of the pageant are a bit red-faced about gypping you out of your prizes."

Ms Augusta shook her head. "I'm not to worried about it. I'm just happier that a gray cloud seems like its been lifted off of me. You don't know how hard it's been, being blamed about what happened with my brother. It wasn't his fault." Ms Augusta saw Tipper's patience. "He was twelve years old and at a party, and his girlfriend gave him pills that he thought were energy pills. He overdosed, and it's been a nightmare trying to get him better. He's spent years in physical therapy and, well, part of me needed the pageant to forget what had happened - but then it became a mission, to prevent it from happening to other kids. I guess my cause struck a few nerves in people."

"They were black listing you for that?" said Tipper, shocked.

Ms Augusta nodded sadly, then she saw Harrison come into the Wharf area. Her eyes brightened. "So, did you say he was available?"

Tipper was about to tell her that he was a sweet guy, and a great cook, but that she would have to wait a year before they could even begin to get serious and that he had a daughter who was challenging and more of a pain… then stopped herself. She turned to Ms. Augusta and took her by the hand. "Come on, I will make introductions."

She led her right to Harrison and said, "Harrison, this is my friend Agatha… Agatha, Harrison… My gut is telling me you two should get to know each other, as in –" She broke into a grin. "Well, it feels right," she said at last.

"Okay…." Harrison said, regarding Agatha closely. He turned his attention to Tipper. "It came, by the way, if you want to stop by after all of this. Molly's pretty eager…"

Tipper gave him a nod before moving away from them and seeking out Jessica.

"Not to shabby of a tale," Jessica said to Tipper, smiling.

"Truth is strange," she said, returning the smile before asking, "Why did she do it? Why did Maureen shoot her own brother? She knocked him down the steps, didn't she?" She watched Jessica nod.

"Grady had been looking into how the voting system worked long before the pageant started. The attorney general had called him several months ago. His firm that he worked for when he was in New York was where it had been developed. It was simple, then, for him to get into the system and check the past records of what had been registered on the web site. Grady spotted the discrepancies right away and gave them a heads' up. It wasn't coincidence that the pageant was placed here - it took a lot of doing to corner the places that would have been able to hold the pageant and have them refuse the event.

"Maureen said her brother got wind of the investigation when he tried to log onto the web server to enter the girls' names and was denied access for two days until Grady was able to implement a key stroke program that would track what he was doing. He panicked and informed Maureen during the talent show of his suspicions. He was going to find Ms Freeport and tell her they were breaking contract with her, but Maureen couldn't let him do that, so, she followed him into the men's room not knowing Ms Bar Harbor was coming out of the stall and shot him. Ms Bar Harbor had her hands outstretched in the dark so she wouldn't bump into the wall, which is how the powder residue got on her hands. She's not a mousy person, however - maybe a bit short on the temper occasionally," Jessica said, shrugging. "People are like that sometimes. Her temper, however, came from low blood sugar that the doctors are looking into."

"Will she be alright?" Tipper asked as she looked at all of the other people gathered around. They were happy, and relaxed. It didn't seem fair.

Jessica didn't answer right away. Tipper shot her a look, and saw she was grinning. "Not that you're going to get a reputation as a matchmaker, but…" she began.

"No way… She – and Eric?" Jessica nodded.

"Are rather smitten with each other," she said, smiling. "He isn't like other men, and she's not letting her temporary blindness stop her from helping others. I understand that she spends her time in the children's ward telling them stories… She's got a long journey ahead of her."

"Wow." Tipper said, shaking her head. "But why did Maureen go after Carol? And- at the hospital – Margarita - was Maureen responsible for that?"

Jessica shook her head. "It was actually Ms Rockland's prints found upon the bag, and a thumb print on the bracelet. She wanted to discredit your charity, and frame Maureen at the same time. Margarita was chosen simply because of her responding to you, nothing more. Maureen was in a conference with several of the sponsors encouraging them not to withdraw their support and was supposed to be there. Maureen _wasn't_ of the clan."

"But the charms? The bracelet…"

"Was actually part of a sponsor packet for the girls about ten years ago from Sutton House publisher. She had no idea the significance of it, and it was the first tangible proof that the rigging sheets were happening. Sutton House only gave them one bracelet, for the winner. It would have been unlikely that Maureen was the winner in any pageant. Maureen knew that Carol was close to the breaking point and to everyone who was around her, it just looked like she stood up to take a cell phone photograph, or make a call as the curtains were closing. She didn't count on Mort to be watching her, or for your talent of being tippable."

Mud. Maine had four seasons. It started the year with the dance of the snowflakes, followed by the season of mud that covered the earth in relentless fury. It was followed by a shy, blissful kiss of summer, leading into the dazzling fashion show of the leaves people came from every state to see before slipping into its winter dance once again. People celebrated each of the seasons, including doing _something_ with the mud.

Jessica wore boots down on the field, and noticed that at least the area on either side of the mud was dry enough. The men had come to a compromise as to what to do with this particular pile of mud and as the spectators filled the bleachers on the field and the television crew took up their spots she saw the men of the community gather on one side, and the ladies of the pageant on the other side of the field, still in their dresses and high heals. With the promise to pay the dry cleaning bills, and for all of the men to participate in this event, the ladies had agreed to a tug of war. Jessica came down to the center of the field and saw someone had laid a rope down that had three bandanas tied to it. they couldn't grab the rope before the first bandana, and they had to drag the other team at least 15 feet before they would be pulled into the mud pile.

Mort came to the side, as he was chosen as the captain of the team and Sam Booth his second. Jessica saw Tipper and Agatha come forward and face off with the men. Beyond Mort the men of the town - the firemen, all of the deputies, Cabot Cove's Councilmen, and a few others who were roped into this - stood behind Mort and Sam acting like teenaged boys who had seen girls for the first time. In contrast, the girls behind Tipper and Agatha were regarding the men with silence as Tipper and Agatha went forward.

Jessica held out a note card, read it then said into the mike, "Competition rules: if no one wins in thirty minutes, it becomes a draw." Jessica regarded Sam. "The men of Cabot Cove outweigh the ladies of Mud Fest by over a ton and a half." She saw a few of the men flexing their muscles. Shaking her head, Jessica stepped away, stopped and turned back to Mort. "Are you _sure_ you want to do this?" she asked.

Mort grinned then said with some concern after clearing his throat, "Yes. If I back out now, Adele said I have to arm wrestle her for the whole weekend, and I don't want to pull my rotator cuff out again."

Holding her hand up she looked at the girls, and saw they were standing a bit taller. Half of them winked at her and the other half gave her a nod.

"This should prove to be interesting. Short… but interesting," she said as she dropped the red handkerchief to the ground.

Some people said later that if you sneezed you missed it. The media played the tape in slow motion to see exactly what happened, and, of course to get the expressions on the faces of those who slammed in the mud. At best guess, confirmed by the instant replay, both teams held onto the rope, and as the handkerchief fell, the men pulled hard on the rope to catch the women off guard.

Except the ladies had anticipated the first tug, and let the rope slide through their hands. The men, now off balance lost their footing and plunged forward into the mud as the ladies pulled together backwards, and ran with the rope.

Mort pushed himself up by his elbows. "Two out of three?" he asked.

Tipper shook her head. "We don't want to bruise your egos any more than we have to," she said, turning back to the girls as they high-fived each other.

"I can't believe its _done_ - all that is left is to change, and pack, and go home," said Ms. Augusta, shaking her head.

Tipper looked at her. "Almost. Feel like a trip down to the Mini Mart after we check out here?"

Ms Augusta nodded, curious.

"Harrison got the key, Mort," she said as she and Ms Augusta walked off the field.

Mort sat up, wiping mud off of his face. "He couldn't have said so earlier?" he asked as he tried to stand, and went down hard in the mud.

Molly sat on the washer while they waited for Mort, watching her father talk to Agatha. "Does she snore?" Molly asked Tipper quietly.

Tipper shook her head. "Not too loud."

After a moment Molly whispered to Tipper, " He's been talking about her all week, said she really should win… now she has, so ...?"

"She's a good person. The rest you and your dad will figure out."

Mort finally came in with gloves and two hazmat suits, and a shielded object that had mechanical waldos. "As we don't know what is down here, I am suggesting that everyone move back into the store area." He tossed one of the suits to Tipper. "Care to join me, Dr. Henderson?" he asked. She nodded.

Fifteen minutes later they were kneeling on pads in front of the space where the dryer was with the waldo shield between them. To appease Molly, Harrison had rigged the video camera to watch what they were doing. "What is the worst that could happen?" she had asked.

Tipper had shrugged. "Poison, Darts, things that lop off limbs…"

It took a bit of tricky movement to get the mechanical waldo to open up the lock and more for it to lift it up. The dust that settled in showed fine strings that were stretched across the opening. Using a flashlight to peek down, Mort saw the hole was packed with cash that was wrapped in plastic bags, gold coin, gems, and a curious white stone box that had a carved area on top a bit larger than a thumb print. "What do you think he used?" Mort asked.

Tipper took a breath. She recognized the stone that was in the box. "I have to put it in." she said digging in her pocket. Mort held his breath as she slowly placed her small hand into the opening past the strings to push the worry stone into place on the lid of the box. There was a click, and the strings slid aside.

It took the better part of half an hour to extract all of the items, the last one being the box. The moment that it cleared the opening, the strings snapped back into place, followed by a swoosh of a blade that sliced across the opening.

"Yes, Earl was a charmer," Mort said, studying the box. "Any idea what is in it?"

Tipper looked at Harrison. "It's your property," she said, nodding to the box.

Harrison regarded Angela, then his daughter. "What do you think, Molly?"

"Oh, that definitely belongs in your museum," she said. "It fits with all of the other stuff you have there."

"You haven't even seen inside…" said Agatha.

Molly looked at Tipper then back to Agatha. "If there's one thing that I've learned from Ian, it's that if you see that white stone, leave it to the clan leader to deal with, and that's Dr. Henderson."

Agatha's head turned to look at Tipper. "Then, your story…"

Tipper didn't say anything. She didn't have to. She watched Agatha relax as Molly went on about donations to charities if Mort said they could keep what they found, and that maybe the mart could use a new roof. Harrison closed the Mini Mart and the group of them went up the street to the museum. Placing the box on the glass show case Tipper picked up the stone again, then hesitated. It didn't feel right to use the stone. She placed her hand on the top of the box and used her ring finger that held the silver ring on it to push in the spot again. She knew, by the pressure upward, that something had come up to come in contact with her silver ring. There was a click, then the box opened. Earl wouldn't have had the ring, wouldn't have been able to reach down, and wouldn't have wanted to risk losing a limb by moving the box out. Tipper opened the box. It held a small book that was wrapped with white cord and several silver rings identical to hers, as well as seed packets.

Mort regarded the top packet. "Isn't that ...?" he asked.

Tipper nodded. "Belladonna."

"But, didn't that start the whole mess?" he asked as she removed the seed packets to place them on the counter. She would have to get them to Jessica's friend to be preserved, but for now she wanted to know what else was in there.

Under a separate section were a few gems that she guessed would have been used to cast augers, if anything; a few coins dating back and at the very bottom, several thin gold bars. She saw Agatha looking around the museum before she turned to Tipper.

"The story - this, this box - and this place - the seeds ... you're _them_… You could heal my brother…"

"Agatha, I am a vet. Not a person doctor."

"But you're _them_…" she said, deflating a bit. "Your not just a vet."

She shook her head. "It's not how it works. Everything in the healers bag is already known to medical doctors, it's just in a different form. There is no magic, no spells. People got healthy because they ate better, and drank better water. When they stopped, they got sick and died. That's all."

"He's my brother… and he hasn't spoken since he was twelve…" she said, tears in her eyes. "Help him…"

Tipper moved closer to Agatha. Leaning next to her she whispered, "I am not the only one…" into her ear. Taking the sobbing woman into her arms Tipper told her perhaps they could take a look at him at Cabot Cove's hospital.

Wrapping themselves about her legs the lads did their best to tell Tipper how much they missed her. Tipper regarded her living room and saw the replacement furniture that Mort had purchased. The moon chair cushion and the futon cushion actually matched. The pillows that she had broken in just right had been trashed. The newer ones… well, a slip cover could change bad decorating sense. The curtains were on order, he'd said, though the blinds were enough to give her privacy. She got a bowl of ice cream and a spoon while she untied the white ribbon on the book. For a moment before she opened the book, she laid her ring hand on it.

Seth had honored the conditions of the bet, and had reported to get his senior driver's exam. His reflexes were fine, though his glasses prescription needed to be updated. The matron who had given him his test had badgered him about how many people were killed because another person didn't stop, and as a doctor he should have known better. With some guilt, he had agreed with her.

Tipper opened the book and saw the date. It corresponded with the date on the walls, decades before Captain Cabot had landed and settled the cove. It didn't matter, not really. It explained how things had been put into place before the shop and the wharf were built, as well as a detailed map of the caves, of where other places were and the connection between it all as how to disarm the traps set. The gems were to be used as weights for some of them.

Tipper closed the book and wrapped it with the white ribbon again. She would have to get with Grady, to discuss with him what they should do - if anything. There were some secrets that were best left unsaid, and forgotten.

Placing the book back in the box and closing it, she locked it securely then took it down to her basement where she moved a few stones and slid it up under the rafters of the first floor. She replaced the stones, and came upstairs to wash her hands.

There would be time enough tomorrow to sort through it all. She sat back down on the sofa and picked up a book. The lads were fed, she wasn't hungry, and if anything, the last week had shown her how _quiet_ her life had been.

She scooped up the lads into her arms and hugged them as they purred against her chest.

It was great to be back home.


	4. Chapter 4

_**When the Wind Blows**_

_I don't own any of this except for the story line and the characters that I created (Marcus, Brianna, Melody, Molly, Harrison, Artemis and all other incidental characters). The regular characters of MSW are owned by their creators. Tipper Henderson is property of Anne and used with permission. © March 29__th__ 2011._

_Kath.)_

_Prologue_

Hush-a-by baby On the tree top,

When the wind blows The cradle will rock.

When the bough breaks, The cradle will fall,

Down tumbles baby, Cradle and all.

Rock-a-bye, baby, thy cradle is green;

Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen;

And Betty's a lady, and wears a gold ring;

And Johnny's a drummer, and drums for the king

Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop,

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock,

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,

And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Catch him, crow! Carry him, kite!

Take him away till the apples are ripe;

When they are ripe and ready to fall,

Here comes baby, apples and all.

James Edger ran his finger over the computer keys and sighed. 'When did life need to become so complicated?' he thought to himself. For over a decade he had been the family lawyer for Bess Daniels and her parents, taking over for their previous lawyer Wally Banks after his retirement. It was a peach of a job. Go in three times a week, pay the bills, and file briefs when his clients wished to change something. Usually it was the condition of the trust fund for their daughter.

Convinced that if left to her own devices she would squander the money, her parents kept moving the date for her to receive the payment back so many times the judge now just shook his head and signed it. Bess Daniels was considered plainer than a mud fence, though James put up with the parents, and was there as a friend to Bess when she needed a shoulder. In the grand plan, James had the notion to wait until Bess had the money, then bump off the parents in a secret way before whisking her off of her feet during her hour of grief to marry her, then take the money and run.

Bess had beaten him to the punch though and married at 23, two years before her 25 birthday when she would be receiving the trust fund. Now the trust fund had been assigned to their daughter, to be received when she turned 6 months of age. He smiled as the computer copied the documents that belonged to Frederica Daniels, her mother. It was a wonder how something so small and common as a storage device could hold so much information. Bess never had reason to think her mother had been having her followed all those years - or gathering information that would be used as a bombshell when the child turned 6 months. He bit his lip. He was sure that he could get the judge to see reason when the truth came out. So much was in the papers already he would have to play this close to the vest. Wolfishly, he grinned. They trusted him. It would work.

'Six months,' James mused. Almost a life time in waiting. The computer beeped twice before he could shut off the speakers and turn the monitor off as it shut down. He heard Bess's footsteps coming down the hallway hesitate. Springing from where he was he crossed the room and picked up one of the decorated onesies that looked like little overalls and shoved the disk into the pocket for safe keeping. It had been his convenient hiding place for over a week now. Bess had gone on a shopping spree and for some reason had all sorts of outfits newly laundered but not put away. It had been sitting folded on the shelf for a while. Maybe, he thought, that was where she had decided to keep it. He couldn't risk it being discovered in his briefcase by accident when he went over the contracts with his boss. Due to sensitive nature of documents, there were some places in his firm that didn't allow people to have any storage devices on their person. He would have time to retrieve it later.

"James? What are you doing in here?" Bess asked, looking about the room.

He shrugged with a goofy smile on his face as he held up the onesie. "They never looked like this when we were kids!" he said, carefully folding it so that the chip would remain hidden.

Bess gave him a blank look. "Oh, I suppose everything changes," she said, taking his hand. "Come on, it's lunch time."

A call from his law firm distracted him after lunch while he stood outside on the balcony of the estate. Hours later, he would remember the sd card and knew that he would be needing to get back there to find a better hiding spot. He couldn't risk Bess getting too curious, or the child growing into that size and finding it with gooey fingers. There were some things that just had to be done now and some things that could wait.

_Chapter One_

Stanley Shelby slammed the door of the family station wagon and brought himself up to his full height of 6 foot 3. His curly black hair dangled just above his dark brown eyes giving him the roguish pirate look so many women found adorable. A simple half hour trip inland to the coast had taken six hours through rush hour traffic because his wife insisted on stopping every ten minutes at every fast food place they saw to use the ladies' room. She would linger for a good twenty minutes and he would find her standing in line looking at the menu to get just one item. They would spend another fifteen minutes eating it, then work their way onto the highway, before she would repeat the whole act. He watched through the car window as his petite wife Bess clipped the car seat holding their daughter Melody sat into the base of the stroller and swung the diaper bag over her shoulder.

Their daughter favored her mother in her petite size, but she didn't have the straight black hair his wife had - somewhere she got little wispy red hair that just curled on the top of the head like peach fuzz. Stanley closed his eyes. The trip up to Cabot Cove had been suggested by their marriage counselor and was to have been without their two month old daughter. Bess had informed the counselor that caring for the child without a break had placed a strain on their marriage, and the counselor had agreed. This trip was a last ditch effort to "save the marriage." Stanley shook his head. It was more than that. There was no marriage to save. He had wooed her, and swept her off of her feet knowing full well that the marriage was just another step needed to get at the trust fund her parents had set up for her.

They had met several years before at a community day fair. Stanley had been well aware of who Bess was and had been looking for a way to introduce himself to her. At 27 he considered himself a ladies' man, but he always kept his personal life as private as he could, taking his adventures with the ladies to out-of-the-way towns. His ambition was to marry into wealth and then retire instead of working 70 hour weeks as a manager of the town's hardware store. To do so, he knew he had to uphold a clean, wholesome image that would pass the most sterling investigation.

He had learned that Bess would be running the bake sale, watched which cookies she brought, and then made it a point to purchase all of them before sampling her cooking right there on the spot. They were just like his grandmother had made when he was a kid, he told her, before his eyes became misty. She had died before passing on the recipe to his mother, and he never thought he would taste cookies like that ever again. He thanked her, and then walked away.

She had followed, offering him the recipe on the back of her personal note paper, followed by her telephone number and shy conversation.

Her parents had changed the conditions of the trust after she married and Bess was fine with it. Before the trust would have been paid out when Bess turned 25, but then they wanted her to marry, and when she was going to fulfill that they changed it to the birth of their first grandchild. Stanley got wind while Bess was pregnant that her parents were in the process of changing the trust yet again, requiring Bess to have a son when they knew full well that she was carrying a daughter. Stanley had met the news with his typical broad grin and hugged Bess, telling her that wouldn't be much of a problem at all and the money was just the kids' college funds anyway. He told her he planned to give her a dozen kids and love every one of them.

It had been a difficult pregnancy, one that kept Bess sleeping in a separate room from him so she could be comfortable. Stanley regarded his wife while she was moving about the house. It was if she was hiding something from him about the pregnancy, but not looking at a fat woman who dashed off to throw up every moment was fine with him.

Stanley knew that her parents had sized him up and were taking steps to make sure he never saw a penny of their daughter's money. Her mother had said as much to his face at the baby shower she had held for Bess. Stanley had played the game long enough to just smile and shrug and say, "Eh, keep your money, she's happier with what we have than all of this."

He left Bess's mother standing at the top of the steps seething in fury. Stanley knew he would have to take action that day, and he did. It was quite simple while the ladies were milling about the garden discussing baby toys to slip down into the basement of the house and have a serious look at how the furnace was hooked up into the household. Borrowing a pair of gardening gloves he was careful not to disturb even a single cobweb as he shifted the collar of the damper slightly, creating a small crack in the exhaust pipe.

It would only be a matter of time before the carbon monoxide would fill the house on a cold night when they ran the furnace. He knew they had just had it inspected, and had been told about the possibility of the pipes shifting like this, but had told the inspector that it was fine for now, and signed the waver. No one really missed him and when he came up, he spent time in the powder room making sure his hands were clean. The glove disposal was another matter all together. Not taking any chances, he washed them with soap on the inside and out, and then placed them on the railing with some other gloves near the garden shed. They would be dry soon enough and no one would be the wiser.

It had taken a month before the call came of her parents' deaths. Bess was inconsolable. The inspector had been called to testify in regards to his inspection and he showed them the waver citing that he couldn't make them get it fixed and it would have only been a matter of time before this happened. Stanley waited for the wills to be read - he knew in cases like this, it could be months before the courts would decide what to do. To his surprise, Bess's parents hadn't changed the trust fund conditions, except that their child would have to be born and reach six months of age before the trust would pay out. The other bonus was that it allowed them to move from their tiny home to her parents' estate, giving him a tantalizing taste of what the good life would be like. Still he fretted about making ends meet and living within their means, and the education that their child deserved. Bess seemed distant for awhile. Then things began to become interesting.

The waiting was horrible. People who knew Bess saw the stress of the pregnancy and the deaths of her parents turned Bess from a sweet person into a howling monster who took swings at whomever was in her way, even total strangers. Stanley was patient with her. Gentle, supportive, loving, the whole time she ranted and raved and it was only with sheer will and determination that he didn't bump her off. The birth of their daughter didn't make things any better. She was supposed to go in for a c-section to deliver the baby, but chose to go into labor when he was out of town on a business trip. He allowed himself to show the proper amount of guilt for not being there for her, expecting her to let it hang over his head, but she was complacent about it and didn't seem to mind about that, just about all the other one hundred little things that happened in her life.

Stanley held his temper as best he could and would go for long walks to prevent himself from doing or saying anything that would give her cause to be any more upset. It didn't work, though. Quite by accident he found that Bess had planned to place the money that she was going to get into trust for her daughter - not their daughter, but _her_ daughter - and it would be payable to their daughter on her 25th birthday.

James Edger had taken him aside after the supermarket melt down and for the longest moment just looked at him before informing him of his wife's decision to change the trust fund. Stanley had blinked a few times, registering it, and shrugged. "I've always told the family that the money was earmarked for their grandchildren's education," he said, grinning. "This way, they will have it ready for them."

James nodded thoughtfully and then watched Stanley as he dropped the bombshell. "Bess was discussing conditions of a divorce today…" he began.

Stanley allowed honest shock to come over his face, and great sadness. "Whoa, wait, you shouldn't be telling me this, isn't there a confidentiality agreement?" he said, still shaking his head and not believing what he was hearing. He put his hand over his heart and slowly sat down. "My sweet Bess," he said, emotions choking his voice. "I thought that I did my best to make her happy. I love her with all my heart…" his shoulders deflated. "Why would she want a divorce?" he asked looking up, honest tears filling his eyes. "I've been true to her, and kind, and loving, and I've given her everything that she wants that I can!" Stanley fell silent for a moment while James regarded him.

"Then you would be contesting this decision for the divorce?" he asked, tilting his head as he watched Stanley cover his face with his hands.

Stanley shook his head. "I want Bess to be happy. I don't want a divorce, I want to work things out between us, but I'm not going to quibble over splitting the silverware up. Whatever she wants - she can have it all. I want to be able to watch my daughter grow up, though. Wouldn't be fair to Melody if I wasn't in her life."

Stanley began to think on his feet. He went to a marriage counselor on his own and poured out his heart saying that he had loved her from the moment he had seen her and he was trying his best to make her happy and that his marriage was in ruins and he didn't know why. The marriage counselor had suggested bringing her to the next session to hear her side of it. The session went surprisingly well. Bess had exploded at the counselor several times with off-the-wall comments that left Stanley and the counselor dumbstruck.

It was enough for the counselor to question her mental competence and make a record of it in the system. Stanley allowed himself to play the loving husband and doting father as he watched his wife's melt downs become increasingly ... entertaining. James Edger received a call regarding her belting a second clerk at one of the stores over a bag of grapes. Enough was enough, Stanley said to James. He was concerned for their child, and his wife's mental condition.

She was placed into a sanitarium for a week for evaluation. The toxicology screen came back negative, which Stanley knew it would. She didn't get any better at the sanitarium, but now she was medicated to keep her wild mood swings under control. He was very careful to prevent her from overdosing on the pills. It would never due to have her die too soon.

Since her parents' deaths and her complicated pregnancy they had been sleeping in separate bedrooms. It was perhaps the easiest thing he had ever come up with. He knew the doctors had informed him that Bess needed a good nine hours' sleep each night. Interrupting her sleep took just a single day's work adjusting the air conditioning baffle that lead to her room.

He had reversed the plate and the gears inside so that it would close only part way with the room controls, and any movement of air past it created a subharmonic sound that he knew she wouldn't be able to hear, but she could feel. Some nights he would move it into the proper place until she was deeply asleep. Other nights he kept it open so that there wasn't any pattern that she could pin point. The timer unit was installed the next day that she had gone out. No one was there to see him install it. He had, of course, taken precautions to prevent any evidence that would link him to it. Unless someone looked into the duct work, they wouldn't find that the screws were reverse threaded. It was a common mistake that anyone could have made.

Stanley wanted to leave his daughter at home simply because the child would have been one more thing to deal with. Not yet two months old, Melody was a sweet enough child, yet still as demanding as her mother. Arrangements had been made for James Edger and his wife to care for Melody but at the last moment, Bess had said no, and packed Melody along with them. He didn't argue. Four months more and the trust fund would be his. Ruefully, he wished that they could have delayed the vacation until the trust fund was in hand, but Stanley knew he was running out of time. The only thing that had delayed the final signing of the papers was her mental condition, and that James was dragging his feet on it as well. Stanley had found that surprising, but he did what he could to stay positive during the whole issue.

Stanley was sharp enough to undo the timer before they left for the trip. He wasn't able to get up into the attic to reverse the baffle, but he had made sure that it was in the open position and that it couldn't be activated by the regular furnace. He knew that she suspected something. Bess would have her lawyer crawling all over the house looking for the shadows that kept her up at night, and Stanley was confident enough to make sure there was nothing that would tie him to her madness. Even a week away, or two, wouldn't change the damage done to her state of nerves from the subharmonics. The pills just made her susceptible to suggestions when she was sleeping. Going into her room and whispering things to her gave her chilling nightmares that would result in the doctor dosing her up even more.

He had taken a long hard look at the conditions of the will and the trust fund. If she divorced him, he wouldn't get anything. Now that the trust was to be signed over to their daughter, if something happened to her mother, the value of the trust would go to her remaining parent. If the parent was incompetent or perished in an accident, then the trust would revert to the child at that time for its care.

"Let's go north and look at the leaves," he had suggested. "You always said you wanted to see the New England leaves." The counselor had agreed. There was something restful about seeing the countryside. "It will be cold, though, a bit too cold for the little one," the counselor had said. Bess had agreed. A warm spell had changed her mind about leaving their daughter home, and besides, in all honesty she believed the shadows that had kept her up would harm her child if she was left behind. Too many stories of babies being snatched and held ransom for their parents' wealth had her clinging to the child like a rag doll.

Bess looked around as she adjusted the front seat back as far as it could go - it would make getting in the car easier later. Part of her had agreed with the counselor. The wind was brisk as it came off the ocean. Her daughter was bundled up in the stroller and looked around at the noises she heard as her mother pushed the stroller down the street. She didn't know exactly what was wrong with Stanley. Only that he was… cold. Despite all of the warmth in his voice and his actions there was a side to him that no one had seen. She was sure that looking into his eyes was like looking into the eyes of a cobra. She had fallen for him so quickly, ignoring her mother's warning about "that type of man." Bess wasn't sure if it was because Stanley was working class, blue collar – or if it was something else. Everyone liked him, though. Everyone told her how lucky she was, and everyone watched them settle down into the roll of suburbanites.

Stanley worked hard for the money he brought home, and provided for both of them. Her mother kept telling her what a mistake Bess had made in marrying him, and she would show Bess one way or the other what Stanley was made of. Bess had been two years away from her 25th birthday when her mother had informed her of the change in the trust fund. She wanted Bess to marry a son of a friend of hers. In all honesty Bess knew that her mother was manipulating her, and the young man was someone she couldn't stand. She had watched him go from girl to girl, and knew marriage wouldn't stop him.

Bess pushed the stroller down the street with Melody covered up in blankets and a plastic cover to keep the elements off of the child. Stanley was reassured that there were air holes at least and when they entered into the shops, Bess removed the plastic so her child wouldn't overheat.

There were some places that were too tight for the stroller, and other places that Stanley noticed had women with the same stroller everywhere. He counted at least seven of them that were identical to the one his wife pushed in one particular shop before he realized the shop was the same chain outlet where she had purchased theirs.

Sighing, he sat down on the benches marked "BIBBIE'S DADDY'S TIME OUT BENCH" next to a display of the same strollers that his daughter was in. Glancing in them he could see they held life-like baby dolls wrapped in the pinks, blues and purples that were trademarks of the store. A sales clerk was tying mylar balloons on the handles of the strollers and stopped in front of Stanley, who was holding his daughter as she slept.

"Bibbie Balloon?" she asked with a chirpy voice. Stanley nodded. "Girl or boy?" she asked Stanley as she peeked down into the pile of purple blankets that swaddled Melody. "Girl," he said, smiling. She tugged to detangle the pink and blue ribbons from each other and tied one on the stroller for him.

Stanley turned his head briefly to see what his wife was into and was shocked to see her sitting on the floor holding her head. His heart in his throat, he hurriedly placed Melody into the nearby stroller and moved the few steps from the stroller to her side. "Bess honey, are you all right?" he asked, concerned.

Sales people saw what was happening and milled around moving things so that they could see what was going on and to open a path between Bess and the way out. It was an unwritten rule: if there was an incident, make the customer happy, and get them out of the store before they think to file paperwork.

Bess shook her head. "I just got dizzy, that's all," she said. Around them the sales people breathed a quiet sigh of relief and began to move back to their posts. Carefully he helped her up on to the bench. The sales people were quick to gather the fallen items that Bess wanted and placed them on the counter to be rung up. Stanley handed the girl enough money to cover the purchases as he took care of his wife.

"It's been a long trip up here honey. We have as long as we want and we can come back later to look around for more," he said gently. Sighing he stood up and grasped the handle of a stroller decked out with two pink balloons that bore the name of the shop. Bess nodded, tired, and after looking at the fuzzy head peaking from under the blanket over their child, she covered the hood of the stroller with the plastic and, leaning on her husband, walked with him back to the car. He guided her to the front seat and keeping an eye on his wife deftly placed the car seat in the clamps and was relieved that Melody hadn't fussed during the entire time. The balloons bumped gently in the back seat as Stanley took a breath waiting for Bess's next melt down.

_Chapter Two_

Writing had always been a catharsis for Jessica during the lonely months after Frank's death. She had taught people to write, to create characters and to express themselves. Some of her students had gone on to continue writing. Character creation had always been something Jessica was rather proud of doing herself. There were many authors who with just a single character and an idea could write volumes. Her writing had always been prolific, her characters true to life.

Today, though, as the wind made the fall leaves swirl around the lamp post and dash against the windows, character creation eluded her. She knew where she wanted the novel to go. She knew how the murder was done, and who did it and the motivation. She had her leading man who would solve the case, and the leading lady who would win his heart. It wasn't that her writing had taken a turn for the romance, however she had found the warmth between the characters growing, taking on a life of their own, and she knew the logical step would perhaps be a happy ever after, unless she could create an antagonist that would be the catalyst for the next novel, giving them a reason not to end it all with fluffy romance.

It was too formulaic, though, and Jessica needed several characters who would be used to create the red herrings. Many times her red herring characters were just simple people who were in the wrong spot at the wrong time. She had decided that this particular red herring character would be an elderly lady who saw too much, But developing the character had been something harder than Jessica had expected. The classification of being elderly struck a nerve that she hadn't expected. She closed her eyes against the throbbing of her temples. Perhaps a cup of tea would help.

Rising from her chair, Jessica strode to the kitchen and placed the kettle on to boil. She was reaching for the sugar when she saw movement at Taylor's old place. It was Artemis Poynte, shuffling around, picking up odd twigs from her yard and placing them in plastic bags, or sometimes jars. The local kids had taken to calling Artemis a witch. Jessica reflected on the events a few weeks ago when Mort had been answering a call of a fire, and found Artemis making apple butter from the local trees. Artemis had been dressed in dark clothing and stirring a cauldron, and from a distance she did look like a witch, her face pinched and pale from the effort of moving the large paddle.

Andy Broom had stayed with her while she finished the cooking, and helped her can it. She was a bit odd, mumbling as she moved through her yard in what Jessica recognized as Latin names for the plants that were there. After the events a few months ago Artemis had never really recovered properly. She was able to take care of herself, and function with her day to day needs, but there was something else going on that Seth had simply said was a nervous breakdown. It was more than that, though. Artemis brilliant mind had closed itself off to everything except the plants around her. Yet there were times when Jessica would observe Artemis in her yard, just watching people as they walked their dogs or strolled by. She never said anything to them, never waved to them. There was a sadness in her eyes that Jessica understood. The man that Artemis had loved had betrayed her deeply with her best friend before his death. Something as difficult as that would be a long time to heal. It would take even longer to trust anyone again.

It had been a bitter disappointment that Artemis had hidden well when she was informed that the child of her husband that Brianna carried didn't survive. The courts had agreed to withhold the execution order for Brianna until after the birth. Artemis was still recovering when the birth had occurred, and it was Mort who had gone to her bedside to give her the news. She had sat silently in the sunshine, looking out before asking Mort, "If it was your wife, and another man, would you have accepted the child openly?"

Mort had shrugged. "If I knew that I could change what was in the child's future, yes."

That had been a little over two months ago. Artemis never spoke of it, even when Marcus came to visit her a week later. He had lost a daughter, and a grandchild, and it had broken him.

"I can't say what's in my heart Jessica," he confided to her. "I would do anything for Artemis, and for my daughter while she was alive, and I don't know if the decisions that I've made for them are correct or damnable. I guess some of those decisions would be best if they were taken to my grave. At any rate, death can't come soon enough for me," he said with bitterness in his voice.

"You can't mean that, Marcus!" Jessica had exclaimed.

Sadly Marcus regarded Jessica before hanging his head. "I've been in love with Artemis for ages, Jess. I would do anything for her. Brianna knew this, though I never let it show, or spoke of it - she just knew. I tried to keep the relationship we had professional, and there were no truths to the rumors that Brianna spread, except for what was in my heart. Though later I made the decision after I saw what type of man her husband was to do what I could for Artemis's happiness. When Artemis first married, I was happy for her, Jess. I wished her every joy. Artemis and her husband tried for a year to have a child. After that, I gave Artemis the money to see a fertility specialist, even went with her when her husband was teaching so she would have a support there. There are a lot of unanswered questions that I have with my regrets, Jess - and they will stay unanswered now… Perhaps it's for the best." He had bid her good evening, and returned to the bungalow the college had given him to retire in. He spent his days afterwards puttering around in the garden shed muttering to himself or taking long walks through the woods where students would often find him sitting on outcroppings of rocks watching the sun set, tears in his eyes.

Jessica now watched as Artemis placed the twigs in plastic bags then took them inside. It was something that Artemis did daily until she ran out of bags. A trip down to the Mini Mart with an oversized carpet bag to carry things would give her more bags to continue her work. Harrison never asked why Artemis didn't recycle the bags. He tried to keep a good supply of them on hand, but sometimes she would go through several hundred a day and run through a case within a week. Jessica watched Artemis wrap her coat around her and walk down the hill to the Mini Mart.

"Perhaps," Jessica thought, regarding her own advancement in years, "my character is coming a bit too close to home." Sighing, she took her cup of tea and walked back to her computer. Sitting down, she watched the screen saver draw colorful pipes over the monitor screen. "If only creating was that easy," she mused. She was about to start typing when the sound of a car driving past with people arguing in it caught her attention briefly.

"Come on, Jess old girl, focus!" she told herself. She decided to go with the physical characteristics first. "The character was elderly, so height would be about 5 foot or so," Jessica mused out loud. It wasn't that there weren't older people who were tall… Shaking her head Jessica regarded the near-blank page in front of her. Hair color: while gray would have been a given, Jessica concluded that this was an exceptional person, so they probably had auburn or red hair that may have come out of the bottle. They would need a cane, hand-carved or an old wooden one to lean against and to thump sense into people with… Jessica took a longer sip of the now cooling tea. In a way, she would have done better walking down to the market with Artemis, and for a fleeting moment wondered how tiny Artemis and her carpet bag would fare against the growing wind.

Artemis had no idea she was the subject of Jessica's speculations at that moment. She was standing on the street waiting to cross it to go to the mini mart when some little thing caught her attention and drew her in the opposite direction. It was the sight of balloons waving in the wind. Pink, blue, lavender, green and yellow bobbed along the rail of a store front.

Wandering down the street she regarded the newly opened Bibbies Babies. A small moan escaped her lips. She would have given up everything for a child with her husband. She had been told quite kindly she should consider fostering, as at her age adoption was almost out of the question. She watched people come out with balloons and wiggly kids and she swallowed, closing her eyes for a moment. She knew the children called her a witch. She didn't know why, or could fathom how they thought, they just did and it made it all the more difficult. She wandered in and was overwhelmed with everything. So many colors, and lights, and laughing, happy parents. She sat on the Daddy's Time Out bench and sighed.

One of the sales people came over to her. "Hello, may we help you today?" she asked in a chirpy voice.

"It's a remarkable place you have here…" began Artemis. "Is everything for sale here?" she asked.

The chirpy sales associate nodded. "Oh yes!" she said before being drawn off by another customer.

"Imagine that," mused Artemis. She sighed and placed her hand on one of the strollers to guide herself up. A small noise in the stroller made her blink. For the longest moment Artemis stood, gazing down at the bluest eyes she had ever seen beyond her own. No one was around the child, and the people who were in the store all had their own. Taking a breath she asked casually, "How much are the baby dolls and blankets?" Not even really caring what the answer was, Artemis pulled the money out of her pocket and paid the sales associate.

"Do you want me to wrap it for you?" the chirpy girl asked.

Artemis shook her head. "Oh, no, I've a bag of my own. Have to save the trees," she said. The chirpy girl nodded, smiling as Artemis casually lifted the bundle from the stroller, taking care to wrap it up and cover the head with the blanket before laying it flat in the carpet bag.

Artemis was as calm as she could be walking out of the store. Inside she was shaking like a leaf and before she got down the steps from the store she realized she would have to go to the mini mart for formula for the baby. She would need diapers too.

Artemis stood for a moment before she went in. Logic told her that a parent that had the child wouldn't just leave the baby there in the store. Not a good parent at least. What type of parent would? She also knew there wasn't any justification in what she was doing. In time the parents would figure out that their child had been left behind - and they would have a great deal of explaining to do before she would surrender the child. Until then, she would keep the child safe and secure. Nodding to herself she took a breath to steady herself and went in.

Harrison was in the back when she came in. Molly was at the front counter, and waved hello to Artemis. Molly knew the other kids had labeled her a witch lady because of her strangeness, but Molly only saw a lonely old lady who was a bit quirky. Dr. Henderson had said that Artemis was a brilliant scientist who was recovering from a pretty difficult time. As she watched Artemis choose the items she saw something in Artemis's eyes: a wonder over all the different types of things she was seeing as if for the first time. Molly got up and went to where Artemis was in the aisle.

"Cloth is better for the environment. My dad says so," she said, pointing to the dozen pack. She pulled a set of the safety pins off of the shelf. "You will need those, too," she said, checking the date on the bottom of the formula. "This one is still good for another six months, so keep it in the fridge after you open it. Baby formula has a really short shelf life."

The trip home for Artemis was a bit more than she could take. She was half afraid of what she had done, and more afraid that it was just a dream. She knew she would have to tell someone, but for now she walked in silence with tears in her eyes. The blissful warmth of her home embraced them as she was able to close the door against the chill in the air. What on earth was she thinking? She took a steadying breath. She could hear noises coming from the inside of her bag. Opening it she gazed down at the bluest eyes she had ever seen again. She wondered what would have happened to Brianna's child if things had been different. She couldn't think of it as her husband's child - it was as if there was a stranger that had done everything and that made the grief she felt somewhat easier to bear.

Taking the carpet bag upstairs carefully she unpacked everything on the bed. Her nose informed her that the baby needed to be changed right away. Realizing that the diapers would need to be washed she pulled open the pack of pins and went to the linen closet to grab a few dishtowels. These would have to do. A t-shirt replaced the soiled clothing – a onesie that looked like bib overalls - and one of her lap robes helped bundle her up after giving her a quick bath in the sink. She boiled water and then let it cool before mixing the formula, bringing it to the proper temp. There was something that told her what to do. Not instinct, not reason, not knowledge, but perhaps it was all the years longing for her own child, or reading all that she could about children. Artemis sat in her rocking chair holding the sleeping child. At least she had this moment.

Jessica shook herself as her laptop computer gave a beep. The screen changed from being light to having a shadow cast over it. She hadn't typed anything for the last twenty minutes and was trying to focus on motivation when the beep had happened. She searched the monitor for the answer and saw that the laptop was running on battery, and the battery was low. Frank Jr. had informed her that sometimes the batteries lost the ability to hold their charge. It seemed that her laptop computer was agreeing with him.

The screen gave a last chirp before going completely dark. Jessica let out a groan. She hadn't thought to save the work she'd done and while some of it was memorable, other parts of it had been a bit scattered. Sighing, she stood up and unplugged the laptop from the wall. There was stillness in the air. Her refrigerator fan had stopped running.

Outside the mournful siren for the fire company echoed across the cove. Jessica closed her eyes for a moment. People knew not to burn leaves, and it was unlikely that there was a house fire this early in the season, which meant with the power going out it was most likely an auto accident.

_Chapter Three_

Mort swore. He had been almost all the way home when dispatch informed him that there was a problem at the sub station where the voltages were adjusted to suit the needs of the community. The billowing smoke told him it was more than just the usual porcupine that often made their nests under the support struts.

"What happened, Gus?" he asked the crew chief.

Gus Gandon had done a fair bit of cursing himself when he had arrived. Like Mort he knew that the damage done would probably leave the community without power for a long time until they received replacement parts. As it was an older sub station, the company would have to decide whether to update the equipment or make do with older parts, waiting for them to be found in salvage or somewhere in storage. In all honesty, Gus's boss had confided in him that the little bit of money they made from small communities wasn't enough to make the power company jump fast to make repairs.

Shaking his head Gus said, "You know how we asked people not to do those balloon launches and that the town council made the businesses promise not to use the mylar balloons?"

Mort nodded, feeling sick. A balloon wouldn't seem like much of a problem, but they were just the proper width to complete a connection between two wires and blow out every transformer between Portland and Augusta. He followed Gus's point to the far corner. There wasn't much left of the balloon, just a pink and blue scrap of it that was still dangling with the pink ribbon wrapped along one of the transformers. Mort knew where that balloon had come from.

"Yeah, I know the place," he said, shaking his head. New business was good, but not if they didn't follow the community standards. "I'll see what I can do," he said to Gus as he slid his hat onto the back of his head. As he turned he saw something that made him take a step forward.

"Did you notice that guard rail missing before?" Mort asked Gus, stepping forward. Gus shook his head then took a sharp breath in as he started to jog down the road. It took Mort a moment to see what had caught Gus's eye – fresh tire tracks in the dirt that Gus had known his men hadn't made with their trucks. Mort was four steps behind him until Gus came to a halt at the edge of the road's shoulder. An awful feeling came over Mort as he saw a car at the bottom of the ravine smacked into one of the trees. In the back window was a small yellow sign hanging upside down that said "BABY ON BOARD."

There was no sign of movement or sound from the car as the rescue workers rappelled down the side of the hill and used the jaws of life to get all four doors open. Mort hated rappelling. He was too old for it, but the crew chief said he needed to come down and see something. Mort didn't expect to see that the driver had a gunshot wound to his side, although he and the woman were both still alive. Somehow she had managed to hold on to the gun during the accident - the bullet holes through the top of the car were proof enough she had still been firing it when they had crashed. Mort felt sick as he looked into the back seat of the car where the car seat should have been. Only the base was there.

The diaper bag and its contents were strewn around the hill as were parts of the stroller. Watching the two stretchers being taken up the hill Mort looked at the sun's slant. They had about half an hour before dusk. With the canopy of leaves, and more leaves falling, it might be late fall before they would find anything - assuming the animals left the remains. He sighed. The driver had been identified - he really hated making calls to the next of kin if they didn't have something positive to report.

Something wasn't right, though. There were a lot of questions that he needed answered and while he realized everyone was doing their part, he still had this nagging feeling inside.

"Sheriff! Over here!" yelled Andy. Mort turned and saw Andy climbing down the hill with ropes to prevent him from falling further down the hill. He hurried over, tying himself off on a tree, and went down to where Andy was carefully working his way under the carrier to be sure that if anything fell when he moved it, he could get it. Mort was right beside him as he carefully turned the carrier over and saw the pink baby snuggie still strapped in place. There had been stories of babies whose carriers had been thrown from cars over 40 feet and the yet babies had been unharmed. Mort fervently hoped this was the case.

But then Andy caught his hand. "Mort - there's a bullet hole through it," he said in a choked voice.

Taking a breath, Mort unzipped the snuggie and, dumfounded, both he and Andy looked in to find a baby doll wrapped in a purple blanket inside.

"Where is the baby?" Andy asked Mort.

Mort shook his head. The bullet had gone clear through the chest of the baby doll but was lodged in the carrier - it hadn't gone through it. Mort sighed. Dinner was going to be very late that night.

_Chapter Four_

Seth sighed. They had made sure the hospital had auxiliary power for surgery and for life support, but the rest of the hospital was in the dark with the patients being told to stay calm while things got sorted out. Perhaps it had been because it was so windy and cold that people had decided to stay off the roads - that when the accident victims were brought in, the surgeons were able to take them in right away.

In the meantime Mort made his way from the accident site to town where he saw the shop keepers were closing their doors. For a perverse moment Mort thought about using peer pressure, blame the new guy for the problem, but he realized he had a more pressing matter at hand.

He walked up the steps to Bibbies Babies with copies of the victims' photos and a bag and knocked on the glass door.

One of the sales associates saw him and opened the door. "Oh, we seem to be closed because of the power outage, can you come back when its on?" Mort shook his head and asked to come in. The girl hesitated, then realized it was the sheriff and that he wasn't likely to rob the place.

"I need to know if you saw these people in your store today?" Mort asked.

Briefly the sales girl regarded the photos from the drivers license. "We get so many people… why would you think that they were here?"

Mort let out a slow breath trying to stay calm. "Because one of your balloons escaped from their car and caused this power outage, despite the fact that your company agreed not to use mylar balloons in your advertising for this same reason. They were in an accident, and, well, something is peculiar…" he said, not trying to give away too much.

The young girl looked at him blankly. "They told us not to sell them, and we don't. We give them away."

Mort took a breath. "Do you remember seeing them?" he asked.

The girl looked at the pictures from the drivers licenses again. "Maybe someone else will remember them." She led Mort back to where the girls were working with flashlights while they folded stacks of blankets. As a group the girls looked at the pictures, all shaking their heads until one squinted. "Oh, that's the lady who sat on the floor," she blurted, then clamped her mouth shut. One never admitted that a customer fell in the store, not to the authorities.

"You recognize her?" Mort asked.

Sandi, the store manager, nodded before sending the other girls back to work.

"Yeah, she got all weird, sat on the floor and was holding her head. Her husband was better looking in person… he was so kind to her, and they had the cutest little baby all wrapped up in blankets."

"What did they buy?" Mort asked.

Sandi shrugged. "Just the usual overpriced baby doo-dads."

"And they took the baby with them?"

Sandi gave Mort a strange look. "Yeah, like, why wouldn't they?"

Mort pulled the baby doll out of the bag he had placed it in. "And did they buy one of these?" he asked. "You do sell them?"

She nodded. "We sell thousands of them chain wide, they are all numbered, and you can register them online. We coordinate them, and have everything laid out in a floor plan so all we have to do is scan the bar code on the register and type in the slot number where the doll is. It really helps when a kid doesn't want to give it up."

"Can you see when this one was purchased?"

Sandi regarded him. "Hello, power failure…" she began. Then she sighed. "We aren't supposed to access the company files from our cell phones, but we can if it's important. So, is this important?"

Mort nodded. "We found this strapped into the carrier they had instead of the baby."

"Maybe they dropped it off at a friends house?" she said helpfully.

Mort shook his head. "I don't know. But could you please look?"

She nodded. In a moment after coaxing her cell to keep the signal going, she looked up at Mort. "I can tell you that yes, the doll was purchased, here sometime this afternoon. They paid with their charge card, and - well, this is weird."

"What?" Mort tried to peek over her shoulder at the page on her screen.

"It was purchased a good fifteen min after they left… Bunnie made the sale." Calling Bunnie over Sandi held up the doll.

"Do you remember who purchased this?" she asked. "It would have been next to the time out bench."

"I sold about twenty of them today… what time did you say?"

"Right after the lady went down."

Bunnie became thoughtful.

"There were three this afternoon," she said, thinking. "Millie Stanford's daughter got one, a couple from Connecticut, and a really intense lady who didn't want me to bag it, she said she had her own bag… One of those things a grandma would carry. I've seen her walking to the market a lot."

"Do you have any information about the couple from Connecticut?" Mort asked.

She nodded. "They mentioned they were staying at the Hill House."

Thanking them, Mort strode out of the shop to his car and held onto his hat as the wind picked up. The Hill House couple could wait. He had a fair idea what type of bag the girl was talking about.

Four steps took him to the back door of Artemis's house. When she didn't answer his knock, he pulled out the key Willie had given him from his wallet, reasoning that she had been in the hospital, and he was concerned for her welfare.

Upon entering the house he heard a strange noise coming from the basement and an odd flickery glow. Following the sound he held onto the rail as he went down.

Artemis was seated at a strange contraption that she worked with her feet while reading from her notes by several hurricane lamps. He recognized it as a really really old washing machine. On top of it was a laundry basket that different flannel shirts in it. Hanging up on fishing lines that laced the basement were thousands of small sandwich bags that had information written on them.

She looked up and nodded. "Hello Sheriff," she said.

"I stopped by to see how you were doing… what's all this?" He asked indicating the hanging bags.

"Research into the spread of the boring ash weevil. There is just enough air for them to hatch, and mature a day, before dying. Once they are that old, I can then do a DNA determination to see how many generations they are removed from each other and why the pesticides aren't working on them."

Mort nodded. "They have pretty much destroyed any of the cord wood production we had here. The ash and elm tree populations are going to be decimated with in three years."

Artemis looked up from her reading. "You didn't come here to discuss my twigs, though… is there a problem at the university greenhouse build?" she asked curiously.

Shaking his head Mort stepped closer to her and glanced in the basket. He blinked. There, under the flannel shirts, was a small head. He craned his neck to see better in the dark.

"I got that at the new baby shop this afternoon," she said, returning to her notes. " Life like, isn't it?"

"I didn't think you would be the baby doll type," he said, studying it. It was nearly identical to the baby that he had in the bag, though it wore a t-shirt.

He heard a catch in her breath. Tearing his eyes from what was in the basket he looked at her. She had closed her eyes.

" I thought it would help," she said at last, her eyes still closed.

"Help?" He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. "Help how?" he asked.

She looked at him. "They told me that Brianna's baby died… the one my husband and she conceived… the one the courts granted me custody of. And I thought, maybe purchasing a doll that looked and felt like a real baby - one that I could hold while I cried - would help me deal with the loss. To be a reminder… I can't even visit her grave, Mort. All those years of wanting a child, and trying and having nothing to show for it, nothing to have or dress up…" She closed her eyes again. "Maybe you think I am too old to pretend, or to play with baby dolls…"

"Some things just aren't meant to be," he said kindly.

Artemis nodded. "That's what the doctor said, after the procedures. I kept trying and trying… he said I wasn't strong enough…that it was for the best… but, how could it be the best?"

Mort sighed. "I don't know," he said gently.

Standing up he thanked her for her time and went past the basket again. For a moment he looked down into the basket. They had said each of the babies were unique.

Artemis had composed herself. "What did you need to see me about Sheriff?" she asked a bit blankly.

"When you purchased the doll, did they scan it?" he asked.

She shook her head. "She just rang the numbers up after I picked it up from the display. Is something wrong?"

"It's okay. It can wait," he said, giving her a nod good-bye. As he crossed her kitchen he saw her bag sitting on the chair. It was open and there was a receipt at the bottom. Curious, he picked it up and glanced down. The registry number was the same as the doll he had. Mort sighed. There could be a thousand reasons why the numbers were the same. Someone swapped the dolls and it had been purchased before came to mind. The bubblegum popping sales associate who didn't realize that giving away balloons was the same as selling them came to mind as well.

It was also possible that the child had been held in the mother's arms at the time of impact, though it still didn't make sense why they would put the doll in the carrier. Taking a breath he went through the gate and past the roses in Jessica's garden before knocking on her back door. Jessica opened the door and saw his worried expression.

"Do you have a moment, Mrs. F?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, letting him in. "I'm afraid the tea's gone a bit cold," she said, leading him to the kitchen table. "You look like you could use something, though."

"The power outage was caused by a balloon. We found a car over the embankment, a man and woman, and we have a missing child… an infant. The thing is, Mrs. F, I think the accident was caused because the woman shot the man, and then put a bullet through what she thought was her own child. What kind of parents would do that? And if we do find the baby, what do we do with it? I couldn't justify giving it back to them…"

Jessica watched him fidget. "There's something else troubling you, Mort, isn't there?"

He deflated. "I was following up on a lead, and it brought me to Dr. Poynte's home. She'd purchased a baby doll from the same place, probably twenty minutes after the accident victims had left the store… she's a grown woman, why would she need a baby doll? I mean, the thing looks like a real baby, and she's even dressing it up, keeping it in a laundry basket like it's a bed or something. Only with flannel shirts over it, not a regular blanket."

Mort saw Jessica close her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, there were tears in her eyes. "I was pretty sure it would come to something like that," she said softly. "I had Frank, of course, for support, and when Grady came into our lives, it was as if we had been given a chance to become parents. I well understand what she is feeling. When there is a loss, some people do what she is doing. I doubt if she would take to carrying it in town, though, and even if she did, she's not a danger to anyone, or herself…."

Mort's phone rang in his pocket. Pulling it out he recognized the name and sighed as he answered it. "Yes, Doc?"

"I wanted to let you know that both of the people you brought in have pulled through surgery, though they are in intensive care. The husband should be awake soon if you wanted to question him."

"What about the wife?" Mort asked.

"She's a different matter all together. We were able to get a hold of someone at their home and they will be arriving in about an hour."

Mort thanked him and as he shut the phone he regarded Jessica. "I know you said you had work to do, but would you come to the hospital with me?" As he stood he looked through Jessica's window to see Artemis in her back room, walking back and forth holding something wrapped in a flannel shirt. "Then again, I don't know if I need you to stay here with her…" he said, inclining his head.

"I'm sure Artemis will be fine… though I can check on her when I get home," Jessica said, going for her coat.

_Chapter Five_

James Edger snarled in frustration as he dug through all of the drawers of baby clothes searching for the computer chip that he had hidden in the onesie. It wasn't in the laundry, it wasn't with the other clothing, and it wasn't going to be easy to explain how his records were stored on that chip along with everything else. It had been so easy to change the codicil of the will allowing Bess and her husband to move into her parents' estate after their deaths. It was an unexpected windfall for them - Bess had thought she had been written out of the will, which she had been, after the marriage. But there were so many revisions, and so many changes, and James just allowed the changes that were made to be slipped in on terminology that the courts would understand and that Bess's parents missed as they blindly signed the papers. It was simple. He hadn't stapled the pages at all, only used a paper clip and a simple overlay that he was able to peel off removed the initial for change box from the form. They never saw it, never really looked - it was just highlighted, he'd told them, so that they would know where to check.

He had to keep someone in the estate. He had to keep up appearances that someone was here and managing things so that others saw the public face. It wouldn't take long for him to groom Bess properly into the social butterfly who held dinner parties for constitutes and senators. That was where the real power was. Being in a position to lobby for what was needed, getting monies promised that would go for funds that needed management. True, he kept clean books, but there were still ways to filter money through them, and then once the interest was garnered, it would be filtered to an account that only he knew the numbers for.

Belatedly he cursed himself again. All the files, all the numbers and passwords, were on that chip, as well as the medical records he'd managed to get from Bess's mother. He was very careful only to use the computers at the estate, and not the one at his office. With that same care he had placed the account first in Bess's grandmother's name, and then when she died, Bess herself, and when Bess changed her name, he waited… and with delicious ease, changed the name to that of the child to be born. All of them could be manipulated to sign things, or to show up when needed. All of them had *the name* that he would hide behind if things were discovered. Of course Bess was embezzling money, he could say - "Look at how unstable she is!"

The jangle of the phone made James jump. Instincts made him hesitate to answer it, until he heard the voice say on the answering machine that it was the hospital in Maine near where Bess and her husband were going to stay.

The chip had to be with them. Thinking fast, he agreed to come and see what could be done.

Jessica and Mort strode into the hospital emergency room glancing around at the milling doctors. Seth came out from his office and beckoned them inside.

"Any change, Doc?" Mort asked Seth.

"He's awake, but only just. As I said, she is a different story. Yes, we did tests on her hands, and she did fire the gun. The only residue that we found on him was the splatter when he was shot close range. He has damage to his liver and lung, but not the spine. She has contusions, and a broken wrist, the one that held the gun." Seth placed a photo on the table that showed bruises. "If I didn't know better, I would almost say that something was holding her hand directing where she should be shooting…"

"Why do you say that, Seth? asked Jessica.

"Because of the wound I found on the side of her head. It had been there perhaps a good half hour before the accident as indicated by the level of bruising. It was like her head had been smacked, then the bullets fired, then they went over the hill, but in all honesty, I don't know how anyone could have hoped to be found over the hill like that… Of course it's just speculation, all in all. Sadly, the contusion on her head along with her brain chemistry has diminished her chances of a complete recovery greatly."

"But you said…" Jessica began, then she stopped.

"What am I missing? What aren't you saying, Doc?"

Seth sat looking at his hands. Jessica spoke up. "Without normal movement, without normal breathing, a person's condition deteriorates, ten it's just a matter of time before the kidneys give out, or the lungs fill up with fluid. On life support, theoretically, one can stay alive for a very long time. The damage to the brain tissue was significant."

Mort stood up. "I guess it's time I spoke to the husband."

Stanley Shelby blinked a few times as the people came into his room. He recognized the doctor who had been there, and he could see that one of the people was a cop. He didn't know who the blonde was.

"Mr. Shelby, I'm Sheriff Metzger and I have some questions for you…"

"Bess… Where is Bess? Melody?...Are they alright?" he managed to murmur.

"Your wife is in another room. The doctors are doing everything they can for her. Can you tell me what happened? Do you remember?"

Stanley gave a shudder. His eyes closed for a moment, but he was able to speak softly. "It was right after we got into town, we were shopping and she went down on the floor of the baby shop. I got them back to the car, and was taking them to the hotel when Bess said she was feeling better and wanted to see the leaves. It's why we came..." He fell silent again but he opened eyes that held tears.

"Bess started acting – weird, saying things that didn't make sense. That her mother's money was being used for something that she wouldn't approve of and that she would see that I would end up in jail for her parents' deaths. She started to hit at me and I used my hand and pushed her away. And then she said I didn't deserve to be a father…" Stanley stopped, balling up his hands and closing his eyes tightly. "She pulled a gun out of her purse. A gun! Where would she ever get such a thing? She was waving it about and she shot the roof of the car and I tried to get the car to the side of the road… and then this white hot pain went through me and I felt us flying…" He broke down into sobs for a moment then looked at Mort. "Melody… is she alright?" he asked, half afraid.

"We… don't know yet," Mort said, unwilling to tell him that their child was lost.

Seth regarded the man, sighing, and led Mort and Jessica out of the room.

Jessica was about to ask Seth a question when James strode up and started into the room.

"Whoa, hold on, young man, who are you?" asked Seth.

"James Edger. I was informed that there was an accident and Stanley and Bess were hurt. Are they okay? What happened?"

"Are you family?" Seth asked.

James straightened up. "I have been their family lawyer for a long time. Long enough to be like family. Bess's parents died several months ago and I have been helping them handle the estate affairs. Is Melody all right? You didn't mention her in the phone call…"

Seth regarded the young man and took him by his arm. "Perhaps we should talk in my office," he said.

James followed them and in the following hour he was able to tell them about Bess and her episodes and how her mind was becoming unhinged. Her time in the sanitarium, the attacks on people, Stanley's unwavering devotion to her. He was horrified to learn that Melody was missing. "You have to do something to find her!" he said "She's just two months old."

The search dogs hadn't found anything except a long dead raccoon that had been gnawing on the insulation of the relays. There was no scent trail for them to follow as it grew darker. The men in the search and rescue team became despondent. Some of them wept with frustration, knowing if the child was alive somewhere in the valley, that it wouldn't be for much longer. Finally Mort had called the search off.

"As far as the father knew, the baby was safe in the carrier, and he doesn't know where the baby doll came from."

The family from Connecticut did have a child with them, but she was older than the missing child was. The receipt from the store that they had was time stamped five minutes before Artemis had been there, and it also had the same doll registration number on the receipt.

Mort stood by his car watching the wind blow the fallen leaves around the lamp posts. It would have to be the home office that sorted that out. He didn't have any more answers than what he had before.

Once home, Mort went to the private stock he had and poured himself a glass of warm whiskey. It tore down the back of his throat, and he felt its pain as tears came to his eyes.

His wife came to him. "There has to be other answers," she said softly.

Mort shook his head. "The only other possibility is that they left the baby at the store by accident and someone picked her up and took her without anyone knowing. It would explain the baby doll, but not the missing child. Hell, I don't know what would be better for the child anyway. It would have died had it been in the car with them. If we do find her, I'm going to make sure that she doesn't go back there."

"You can't keep a baby away from its parents -"

Mort shook his head. "I don't want the baby's death over my head. She put a bullet through where she thought her own child was," he said, covering his face with his hands. Adele sat beside him and hugged him. For the longest time he held onto his wife.

_Chapter Six_

The next morning brought the return of electricity to most of Cabot Cove. Jessica was relieved that her computer had saved all but the last line she had typed of her characterizations. An early knock at her door brought her down the steps with her dust mop still on over her curlers and the sleep still in her eyes. It was Molly - odd enough that she would be up at that hour, but Jessica really hadn't seen her since Frank moved to Boothbay.

"Come in Molly, you must be freezing… what brings you here?"

Molly fidgeted as she came in and stood in the living room. Jessica indicated that she should sit, but Molly shook her head. She paced a bit and Jessica could see she was more than a bit nervous.

"Well, Dad's been a bit distracted since he started dating again, and Aunt Gretchen isn't much of a help when it comes to practical matters… and… I .. I have a question that maybe you would know the answer to. I know someone who figured out something, and it's like, not that it's a secret or anything, it's just putting the clues together, and this person is really nice, though a bit strange sometimes, and they have been hurt a lot 'cause you can tell by their face. And it's not like a crime has been committed - well, I don't know if it's a crime or not, but for their own reasons this person doesn't want everyone to know they did something. But you don't want to get into trouble, and you don't want them to get into trouble, and you've been told to go to an adult that you can trust… and I would have gone to Tipper but she's away and I don't know what to do."

"Well, asking for help is a good first step. Now, is anyone going to be hurt because of the information you've figured out?"

Molly became thoughtful. "They may not like me for telling."

Jessica shook her head. "If they are a friend, they would understand and not blame you if what you know made you uncomfortable."

Molly sat for a moment. "I heard my dad and my aunt discussing the missing baby this morning and when it happened, and while I didn't see the baby, I know where she is, and that the baby is in a good place, and the person will take really good care of her. I helped them with getting the right baby formula and diapers and everything."

"If you know who has the baby…" She watched Molly press her lips together.

"It's a feeling I had when I saw this person, when I put it together, that if the baby goes back to the people who had her before that she would be in terrible danger. Maybe I'm hanging out with Frank a bit much, but I got that Mortal Peril feeling when I was listening to my aunt and dad. If I don't tell you who has the baby, am I in trouble for, like, withholding evidence?"

"Molly, are you sure the baby is in good hands?"

Molly nodded and smiled. "The absolute best, Mrs. Fletcher."

Jessica took a breath. "Then don't tell me the name of the person. If I don't know, then I can't tell and the baby will stay safe until we can figure this out. I will have to let Mort know, but I won't tell him who told me."

"But won't you get into trouble?"

Jessica shook her head. "I know Mort will be relieved that the baby is all right."

She watched Molly walk down the hill back to her home and sat back on the chair. Knowing that Mort's house was only a short jog around the block she went upstairs and changed into her sweats. Fifteen minutes later she found herself at Mort's door and facing Adele as she was leaving for work.

"He's up, but it was a rough night for him."

"For all of us, Adele," she said.

Mort was sitting on the sofa, unshaven in a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. He stood when Jessica entered the room, and offered her a seat.

She waited a moment then took a deep breath. "I don't have all of the answers, Mort, but I had one show up at my door today, and that answer informed me that the baby is safe, and in the care of a person who will take good care of her.:

"Why didn't they come forward yesterday?" he asked, leaning forward.

"The person only found out this morning about the accident and the search. They also asked that the person be allowed to continue to care for the child for now, in secret, because they feel that the baby's life would be in danger if returned to the family."

"Somehow I find my self agreeing with you on that, Mrs. F. I did some digging into this Stanley Shelby and his family. His wife Bess is an heiress, her parents died a few months ago in a freak carbon monoxide poisoning accident, and the baby, Melody, has a trust fund when she turns 6 months old of over 190 million dollars. Interestingly enough, the conditions of the trust fund state the money goes to the named child. If something should happen to the child before she gets the trust fund, the money reverts to the estate holder. I haven't got more details than that, but your nephew Grady is helping to go through the paperwork regarding the accounts. Seems the firm that James Edger is a part of is being audited for money laundering. Grady informed me that the books for certain estates are missing, and our James Edger is part of the team that handled them."

"And of course he could be blameless and it's his partner who's involved."

"Only if it was from the grave, Mrs. F," Mort said to her before reaching over to get the ringing phone.

"Yes?" he said. Jessica recognized the voice on the other end of the phone as Seth's.

….."You don't say, Doc? Okay. Yes, I can get a judge to sign the warrant for it for both of them. Do you think the hospital where the baby was born still has the samples of blood on file?" There was a pause then Mort nodded. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll fill Mrs. F. in."

Mort returned the phone to the cradle. "Doc said one of the nurse who was taking care of Bess Shelby made an observation of how fit she was… and that it looked like she never had had a baby. The charge nurse told Doc, and they pulled her medical records from her hospital. There were no records of her ever giving birth until she showed up with the infant at the pediatrician's two months ago. It did list her ob-gyn, who happens to be Dr. Weller…"

"Dr. Weller? Wasn't he the doctor who has been indicted as the black market baby doctor? Stealing embryos and selling them to the highest bidder?"

Mort nodded. "I have to get a warrant for DNA samples for both of them. I mean, she could have used a surrogate but didn't tell anyone."

"Not even her husband? He would surely know!" said Jessica, a bit shocked.

Mort took a breath. "Maybe your husband would know, and maybe I would know with Adele, but there are some couples who don't communicate, and from my time on the force, the richer people are, the less they say to each other."

The hospital hallways were crammed with nurses and doctors and equipment when Jessica and Mort arrived to speak with Seth. The judge had agreed to order a DNA for parental classification, and it was only a short time later that Seth had some answers for them. He was very careful to close the door and lead them over to his desk.

"You know how I hate cloak and dagger stuff, but there are very sound reasons for caution this time, what with a lawyer hanging on to every word you say. I'm not sure if you're psychic or just lucky with guesses Mort, but the tests have come in and Melody isn't Bess's or Stanley's child. There was even a notation on Melody's file that she didn't carry the same blood type as her mother, though the doctors let that slide because they didn't know Stanley's blood type. The only time that becomes an issue is when there is a need for a transplant.

"I can have Grady check back to see if there were any payments made to Dr. Weller that would indicate the baby was sold to Bess, as well as the other DNA records from Dr. Weller's place. Maybe we can determine who Melody's real parents are."

"That might be a bit difficult, Mort," began Seth.

"Maybe, but if I remember the case, Dr. Weller got away with so much of it because he did do all of the proper testing, and then some. It was only because someone in the insurance company saw a pattern on the type of tests that they did that had no relevance with having a baby - including DNA testing for all the people involved. Chances are, their DNA is in the system."

_Chapter Seven_

Stanley laid in bed with his eyes closed. He had seen James Edger in the hallway and wanted to avoid answering his questions at all cost. Playing weak, he would ask the nurses about Bess, and the baby, telling them he wanted to take care of his wife for as long as it took to get her better.

Inside he hoped that she never recovered for the stunt she had pulled after leaving the shop. "I would rather have total strangers have our child than let you get her in a custody fight!" she had screamed.

"What are you talking about?" he had asked, distracted as blue balloons bobbed in the back of the car with their pink cords. He slammed his foot on the brake and brought the car to a halt on the side of the road. "What have you done?" he demanded.

She only looked smug. "What I should have done a long time ago!" She swung her purse at him, and he shoved it back at her as hard as he could. He heard her give a grunt as her head hit the door's window. He turned off the car and took the keys with him as he went around to where the baby carrier was. Wrenching open the door, he looked at the baby in the carrier - she had clipped the carrier in, and covered the baby, but what he should have seen was wrong to begin with was that she had clipped the carrier the wrong way - forwards, not backwards. Pulling the blanket away, he saw that all it covered was a doll. He realized then that Bess had taken the wrong stroller – leaving the baby behind.

"You stupid bitch," he had said to her, then as he looked at her through the window he saw the bloodstain, and the cracked glass.

He took a breath and checked to see if she was alive. Finding she was, he swallowed and then took a second breath. He would have to make it look like an accident, for both of them, but at the same time, they needed to be found right away. Driving down the road a ways he saw the substation, and his mind clicked. Stopping on the road he got out, untied one of the balloons, poked a few holes in it, and guided it right under the wires. He would have two chances at this. Using a long stick to guide the balloon just under the wires helped and it gave him a few seconds to run back as the balloon caused the most magnificent arcing. He had to work fast after that.

Under his seat rested a gun that he had purchased through his hardware store. No one had seen him purchase it, and he had made sure that the invoices for it were buried with other paperwork if there was any question. It was simple to make a copy of her license and forge the forms. He had fully intended to make her death look like a suicide. Who wouldn't believe it after everything that she had been doing? Sighing, he pulled out the gun and wiped his fingerprints off of it.

Grabbing one of the onesies from the diaper bag he used it to cover his hand and arm and guided her hand around the pistol, aiming it first at the carrier, then the roof of the car, being very careful to angle it like she had been the one firing. A sudden thought came to him to go to the back seat and unhook the carrier before carrying it down the street aways and flinging it and the contents of the open diaper bag along the hillside. He made sure that the blanket he had used to shoot himself was in among the items that went over the edge. Scuffing his tracks, he went back to the car and buckled himself in. He had made sure to have her seat belt unbuckled. He knew where Melody was, and that it would be very simple at this point to declare her an unfit mother and get sole custody of the child. It would have worked except, somehow, she regained enough consciousness to pull the trigger of the gun still in her hand when he was aiming for the tree. White hot pain shot through his body as the car swerved and pushed through the guard rails.

When he woke the first time he recounted the version of the story that he had gone over in his mind. Wisely, he let the other people do the talking. When they didn't mention Melody being found his heart began to pound. Surly someone at the store should have seen her?

He heard a footstep beside his bed. "You can stop faking," he heard James Edger's voice say.

Stanley allowed a full half minute before stirring. "Melody? Is Melody all right? They won't tell me anything…" he said hoarsely with tears welling up in his eyes.

James leaned over the bed. "I know everything," he said. He saw Stanley blink in confusion. James had decided during his long wait to see Stanley to cut him out of the picture all together. Blaming the accident on him, the disappearance of the child, he had already composed a guardianship request to take care of Bess and the child should they find her. It would just need to be filed. Of course, with no hope of recovery for Bess, measures would be taken and he would leave the care of the child to his loving wife while he disappeared to the small island he'd purchased some time ago.

"You can drop the act - I know Melody isn't your daughter and that you only bought her from a baby broker to get your hands on the money," James hissed into Stanley's ear.

"What?" he asked, truly amazed. "Melody is my daughter, Bess gave birth to her…" he began. Stanley's hand closed over the nurses bell and he pushed the button carefully enough that James didn't hear the _beep,_ or see the light come on beside the bed. He needed backup who was sympathetic to him just then.

James regarded him. "You are maintaining Melody is your birth child?" he said with a smirk. "Then how can you explain the payments to her doctor in excess of half a million dollars?"

"We went to a fertility specialist. They are really expensive," Stanley said with a shrug. He honestly didn't have any idea what James was talking about. "I paid those bills myself," he said, then curiously he regarded James. "No one except Bess and I knew about her doctors. Or where we had gone. Who told you that? I know my Bess, she wouldn't have told you…"

James's smile froze on his face. It was true. Bess hadn't told him, though in her current condition, she wouldn't be able to say otherwise.

Jessica was by the nurse's station when the bell went off in Stanley's room. Turning she saw the lawyer guy bending over Stanley and the look of dismay on Stanley's face. Curious, she went to the door and stood there long enough to hear James say, "I know that you and your wife were trying to defraud the conditions of the trust fund to get your hands on it…"

Stanley shook his head - it hurt, and he grimaced. I have always said the trust fund was earmarked for the kid's education."

James laughed. "And you never wondered why Bess and her parents never told you…"

Shaking his head carefully, Stanley asked, "Tell me what?"

James stopped laughing. "There never was a trust fund. Not much of one, anyway. It's been going on in the family for generations, each one of them being hoodwinked to do what the parents or an aunt or uncle wanted. The trust fund started out post-Civil War, a bunch of stocks that were held until maturity. Gave the name prestige and power, but there was no substance. Only the lie. Each generation who was to get it would earmark it to the next one, pushing back when they were to get it each time, dangling it out of their reach. Bess was the only one who ever tried to really get it, though. It made her parents a bit more frantic about hiding the secret."

Jessica saw Stanley shrug and say weakly, "Whatever you're talking about isn't relevant. My little Melody and Bess are all that matters…"

She saw James reach up and touch the IV line. "Did you know that Bess named me guardian of Melody?" he said with a grin that sent a chill down Jessica's spine. She had seen enough.

"Excuse me, Mr. Edger is it? I think the sheriff has some questions for you…" Jessica said pointedly.

She saw James Edger pull back as if shocked that he had been seen. "Oh, of course," he said, blinking a few times. "Where is he?"

"He's with Dr. Hazlett right now, down the hall in Mrs. Shelby's room."

James nodded and exited the room. Jessica stepped forward to Stanley's bed. "If you want, I can let the nurse know that you don't want to have him as company…" she offered gently.

"He scares me," blurted Stanley. Closing his mouth, he looked down, then said, "I know that sounds silly, but something about him scares the daylights out of me. Like, he's capable of anything… Have the searchers found Melody?" he asked hopefully.

Jessica took a breath. "No, the searchers haven't," she said truthfully. She watched him squeeze his eyes closed, tears coming from them. Patting his arm, she sighed and went out to the nurse's station where she informed the nurse not to let James Edger back in, and to keep a close eye on Stanley.

It didn't surprise her when she went to Bess's room to find James hadn't come to see Mort. It would buy her a bit of time, she thought.

"Mort, if you have them, I need to see the photo's from the crash site and look over the report," she said, then dropped her voice, adding "I was just in with Mr. Shelby, who was asking if the searchers had found Melody. I don't remember you telling him that there were people searching for her…or that she didn't come with them to the hospital ... do you?"

Mort regarded Jessica as Seth said, "No, we didn't tell him - unless James did, but he was informed not to upset Stanley…"

"Well, he was in there earlier speaking with Stanley, and when I informed him that Mort needed to speak with him and he ducked off of the floor," said Jessica. "I daresay he will lie low for a while."

"I have the photos and the report in the car, Mrs. F. I can get them for you, and see if James Edger is still hanging around at the same time." Jessica nodded.

Mort took a quick look down the hall, and caught from the corner of his eye James trying to press himself into one of the door frames, quite unsuccessfully.

"Oh, there you are, I've been looking for you…" said Mort evenly. He watched as James Edger froze.

_Chapter Eight_

Molly made the decision to bring groceries to Artemis's home, including more baby formula and some other staples knowing that she wouldn't be able to get out and purchase some without bringing the baby out. She had left the stuff in the bag by the front door of Artemis's home while speaking with Jessica, then went around the back to deliver it.

Artemis saw who it was, and opened the door for her to come in. Dressed in a different t-shirt, the baby was looking around with interest as she lay on a thick blanket on the floor.

"I hope you won't be mad at me, I told Mrs. Fletcher that the baby was in good hands, but I didn't tell her that you had her. It's all over the news that the baby is missing…but, well, it's complicated. Anyway, I just got this really bad feeling that if the baby goes back to her parents something bad will happen to her. Mrs. Fletcher says she is going to tell the sheriff that the baby is okay, but that she doesn't know who has her, only that she will be taken care of."

Molly watched as Artemis looked down at the baby and sat down beside her. "I don't often watch the television. Where are her parents?"

"In the hospital. There was an accident, but it was freaky because the father was shot, and they say that the mother did it. Oh, and the baby's name is Melody."

Artemis regarded the baby, then looked at Molly. "Have you ever heard of the wisdom of Solomon?" she asked softly. She saw Molly become thoughtful.

"Sort of," she said, waiting for Artemis to continue.

"It came to past that there were two women expecting their child to be born, and when they were, one child was born dead, the other alive… the woman who had borne the child that died changed the children in the night, leaving the dead baby in the other woman's arms. The case was brought before Solomon, who had been given great wisdom. He could not bring back the dead woman's child, nor could he give the same child to two mothers. So, he asked for his sword, and was going to divide the child in half. It was alright to do, said the woman whose child had been lost. He looked to the other mother, who said for him to give the first woman the child, because she would want to see it alive, not dead. Solomon gave the second woman the baby, saying she was the mother because she would give up her happiness for the life of the child."

For the longest moment, Artemis fell silent. Molly took a breath.

"This is different," she said, placing her arm around Artemis. "One, Something fishy is going on, and two, well, something _really_ fishy is going on. And three, you're a much better mom for her than someone who would use a gun on another person."

Molly stayed awhile helping Artemis fold the diapers that were now dry, and the baby onesie that had been soiled upon Melody's arrival.

"What's this?" Molly asked, feeling a hard spot in the front of the onesie. She dug out a small SD card and regarded Artemis. "I've heard of little kids getting into technology at a young age, but this is pushing it!" Artemis only shrugged.

Molly took a breath. "It's something that the sheriff should see," she said firmly. Artemis made a small noise in her throat.

Molly looked at her with a mixture of concern, and alarm. "It's okay. I know how to get it to him without him knowing, okay? Please don't worry. Sheriff Metzger is probably the best person to have on your side when you're in trouble with the law. Not saying you're in trouble, but…"

Artemis didn't say anything for a moment. She only looked at the baby for the longest time before speaking softly. "If you would have told me two days ago that I could have fallen so deeply for anyone in less than 24 hours, I would have thought one of us was quite mad… But I look into her eyes, and see a memory of someone that I loved so many years ago, and I can't imagine my life without her in it."

_Chapter Nine_

Jessica stood by the wrecked car in the impound yard. Bags of items from the diaper bag were in the trunk. The doors of the car were duck taped closed. Mort pulled the tape off and let Jessica peek in.

"See? No exit hole for the bullet," he said.

Jessica frowned. "That doesn't make any sense, Mort. Children under two are placed facing backwards in the back seat. In order for the bullet to have gone through the baby doll and lodge in the back of the carrier, she would have had to have been out of her seat and directly over the baby, but there isn't enough room for her to have done that, or the seat would have been facing forward to begin with. And the other thing…"

She paused, looking at Mort who had a grin on his face. "What?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing," he said, still smirking. "Go on." In a mischievous way, Mort just loved how Jessica dug in and solved things. He couldn't help grinning when she 'strutted her stuff' as Seth had once called it to him privately.

Taking a breath she opened the door and pointed to the locking mechanism. "You said that you had to use the jaws of life to get the doors open?" Mort nodded. "It is odd because the doors were all locked when the accident happened. How could everything have been tossed over the hillside? As well as the baby carrier, which doesn't show any sign of damage to it where the clamps are - the strap that held the carrier was undone manually, not sprung during the accident."

"There are a lot of things that don't make sense with this, Mrs. F," Mort agreed. "Including the fact that your nephew can't seem to find the trust fund that everyone is interested in since the baby disappeared. Or for that matter, that the lawyer friend isn't keen on offering a reward for the child's return."

Mort pushed back his hat and squared his shoulders. "I can't say that all of them are in on it, but there is something mighty suspicious going on with the three of them. We have her on pulling the trigger, but Doc said she probably was knocked out before the accident. So where does that leave us?"

Jessica indicated to the trunk. "Perhaps some clues are in there," she said, eyeing the purple blanket that had dark spots over it. "Perhaps running some tests on that would be a good start."

Mort regarded her with curiosity. "A baby blanket?"

Jessica nodded. "It's large enough that it could be wrapped around something, like a hand, yet thin enough for it not to be too bulky."

"Like what?" Mort asked as he drew the bag out of the trunk.

"Like someone else's hand. If what Mr. Shelby said was true, that he tried to stop his wife, there would have been gunpowder residue on his hands as well as hers. He said she fired at the roof, then at the baby, and then at him. I would also check for fingerprints on the seat belt button on Mrs. Shelby's side. And why is her seat back further than his? The impact wouldn't have sent it backwards, it would have gone forward. Mrs. Shelby is a very petite woman. She wouldn't have needed that much leg room if the diaper bag was in the back seat with the baby."

Floyd popped his head into the gated impound yard. "Sheriff, this was just dropped off for you," he said, holding a small envelope in a plastic bag.

"From whom?" Mort asked, curious.

Floyd shrugged. "It just came through the mail slot a few minutes ago, addressed to you."

"In the bag itself?" asked Jessica.

Floyd shook his head. "When I saw what was on it, I picked it up with gloves and dropped it in an evidence bag."

"Smart thinking, Floyd," said Mort, regarding the envelope. Printed on the outside were the words "Sheriff Metzger." There were no fingerprints on the envelope, or the SD card. Mort regarded it, then with a sigh plugged it into the computer on his desk.

To his surprise, the chip wasn't password protected. The numbers from the accounts ran past his eyes. He looked up at Jessica. "I'm not sure what this all means, Mrs. F, but I think your nephew can unravel it. The thing is, without a confession, the judge would throw out all of this as evidence."

Jessica pointed to one of the files as she slid on her glasses. "This one might give us some answers."

Floyd came into the office with a frown. "It's like you suspected Mrs. Fletcher, there was gun powder residue on the baby blanket found at the accident site."

Mort looked up at Jessica. "Then we can go in and make the arrest…"

Jessica shook her head. "That's going to have to wait a few hours, Mort. What we do need is someone to keep watch over the Shelbys because unless I miss my guess, their lives are in danger. We need to take a little field trip with a search warrant."

Mort nodded, and after a brief review of the file Jessica had indicated he placed two calls.

It was early evening when Seth rang Mort letting him know Mrs. Shelby had awakened and was able to answer some questions. Floyd had the sense to prevent James Edger from entering into Stanley's room, and when James Edger took one look at Floyd and bolted, Floyd caught him and locked him up on suspicious behavior.

Jessica had Mort drive her to the hospital, and after a brief word with Seth, and a call to Floyd, an assembly of interested parties was gathered in Bess's room.

Stanley mutely sat in a wheel chair, an IV still in his hand, regarding Bess. She had a murderous look in her eye that spoke volumes. James Edger was brought in and sat in the chair, his arm handcuffed to one of the arm rests to prevent him from bolting. Seth stood on the other side of Bess, watching her vitals. Jessica, Mort and Grady entered the room with several envelopes.

"I see we are almost all here, but for now, this will do," said Jessica. "The other involved parties will be seen later." Taking a breath she regarded James Edger before looking at Stanley.

"It saddens me when some people take on the roles of husband and wife on a pretext for monetary gains. Despite your best efforts, you left clues behind of your actions. It wasn't hard to find the newspaper clipping of your whirlwind romance, and the story of how you two met. Less hard to find was the fact both sets of grandparents had died before you were born, so, there were no memories of cookies, and the neighborhood you grew up in was not one people would share such things.

"A lie that starts a relationship is still a lie. We took a trip to your estate, with a warrant, and found the damage done to the pipes. Not just the two places where the vent pipe had been damaged, and then later repaired after the unfortunate death of Bess's parents, but some peculiar work done to the vents in Bess's room which would surly have had an effect on how Bess slept. It wasn't hard not to find it, or suspect what was going on after seeing Bess's medical record, and her hysterical breakdowns in public."

She saw Bess glare at him. Holding up a finger she turned to Bess.

"Which brings us to you. The same medical records show that you never gave birth to the child you refer to as Melody. They did give reference to the fertility specialist, and its known that this doctor is under investigation for selling unborn embryos and arranging illegal adoptions. Melody isn't your daughter, and the courts will reunite her with her real parents."

"She's dead," said Bess. "There wasn't nothing wrong with what I did to get Melody, her mother died right after she was born." Bess watched as Jessica shook her head.

"Oh, I am afraid that's not the case. The woman who gave birth to Melody did die, but Melody wasn't her child to give away. The attending doctor falsified the death certificate so that he could re-write one for you. It wasn't by chance that your husband was called away for the business deal; you made a call to a friend to get him away from the house so you could go to the hospital and collect the baby.

"We found the records for your pregnancy suit as well, one that would allow you to fake being pregnant to fool everyone, except your mother. She knew you weren't pregnant, and had you followed to the doctor's where she managed to get your records. She was going to use it to change the conditions once again of the trust fund, but Mr. Edger saw he was going to lose his chance of getting that money once and for all, and he made changes to the will that your parents signed with out reading."

Turning to Grady she nodded. Grady pushed his glasses on his face back a bit and took a breath as he slid out the report.

"The trade commission has had your firm under investigation for a while, with missing funds - and with the discovery of evidence today, I was able to gain access to the accounts that you had the money tucked away into. Its been transferred back to the proper accounts, including the interest. The court has also reviewed the conditions of the will, and the trust fund, and amended it to the original. There really wasn't any reason not to pay the trust to Mrs. Shelby back then, and yes, there was 19 million in the trust. While the stocks that were originally listed as an asset were without value, as a collectable item, a reputable auction house has appraised them for the value of the trust fund.

"The court would also rule that there were unreasonable expectations placed on the trust fund, and would have granted it if they were petitioned. Mrs. Shelby, since you commit a felony, you cannot profit from a will, or the conditions of the trust fund. The same applies to you Mr. Edger - the court has also revoked your guardianship of Melody." He turned back to Jessica.

"I didn't do anything wrong," said Bess firmly.

Jessica sighed. "Oh, I think you did Bess. Always trying to please your parents, waiting for your 16th, then 18th then 21st, then your 25th birthday, learning you would have to be married before, and have a child, then learning that the child you had planned on to get the money needed to be a boy and there would be more waiting ... you turned to the one person who you knew would help you, the person you could manipulate who was a trusted friend of the family.

"You turned to James Edger to work out a way to kill your parents and get the house and their money with out causing suspicion. You told him about the pipes in the basement that the inspector said could become faulty. What you didn't know was that your husband had already shifted the pipes and created damage that in time would have filled the house up with carbon monoxide. Left on it's own, it would have been a while before it would have worked, but you were frantic when they were going to change the conditions once again to when the child was 25. All it would have taken was your mother to insist on a DNA test of your daughter and everything would come undone."

Turning to Stanley she said, "The air flow to Bess's room was diminished and it didn't take much looking to find where you had installed your baffle that would create the sub harmonic sounds that were keeping your wife up at night and interrupting her sleep. We found the timer as well, all of which was driving Bess over the edge, causing her meltdowns, and her erratic behavior.

"Going to the marriage councilor was a stroke of good fortune: you had an impartial witness to this that would testify on your behalf to have Bess declared unfit as a mother. Your mistake was in the purchase of the gun and forging her name on the gun permit and papers. While it was close to how she signed it, it was still evident that it was a tracing of her name. We also found traces of the gun oil under your seat, not in her purse, and gun powder residue on the baby blanket that you used to wrap around your hand and arm to shield it from the back blast."

"She shot me!" Stanley said, pointing to her.

"You needed killing!" Bess blurted out.

Mort stepped between them. "Whoa. Hold on and let Mrs. Fletcher finish."

Jessica nodded to Mort. "Thank you," she said as the two of them fell silent. "You had to have been frantic when you realized that Melody wasn't in the car with you and perhaps you only intended to show how unstable Bess was at the time. Your mistake was in the direction of the baby carrier when you shot at it - it was facing the front, not the back. You had to push her seat back in order to get both of you in the passenger side, and there wasn't enough time to slide her seat forward after scattering the baby items around. If you had just left the items in the car, very little would have been thought of the unfortunate incident.

"It gave Bess time to come to, realize what she held in her hand just as you were aiming for the tree to hit. The tire tracks show you veered off to the side, going through the guard rails where you were found. Your mistake was not to empty the entire round: we found your fingerprints on the remaining bullets. You didn't know she was going to shoot you and you thought that the power company would be able to get to you in time for you to go back to where your wife had left Melody, declare her incompetent, and wait the four months as her sole parent to collect the trust fund."

Stanley only glared at Bess before saying, "It would have worked too if she hadn't shot me."

Mort stepped forward. "I'm only saying this once. You have the right to remain silent…"

Grady lead Jessica out of the room and closed the door over the din of yelling that was going back and forth as Mort read the charges against them. "So, where is the million dollar baby?"

Jessica looked at her nephew. "With the three of them out of the picture, what happens to the estate, and the trust fund?"

She watched her nephew take a deep breath. "Well, they won't be getting any part of it – only the money that he earned from his job would be available for their defense. The rest of it, including the estate, would probably go to their named heir, which James Edger put in the wills, including the grandparents will as Melody Shelby. I just don't know who would not be happy with all of that, Aunt Jessica. I mean, they were well off to begin with, why want more?"

He watched as his aunt shook her head. "I need to make one call, and then you can take me back home. Mort should be done by then, and will join us."

Artemis heard the door bell ring twice before getting up from the floor in the living room where she had been sitting, feeding Melody. Carefully she covered her with the soft blanket corner and stood up, walking slowly to her back door. Taking a sharp breath she looked through the glass door at the blue eyes of Marcus and slid the door a few inches open.

"Marcus, it's late… what are you doing here?" she asked with concern. She heard other voices beyond murmuring things.

"Darnedest thing, I was ready to turn in for the night when Tipper came and said I needed to come here for an important meeting with Jessica. Would you care to join me?"

Artemis shook her head. "It's late, I really can't," she said, beginning to close the door. Marcus looked down at her and sighed.

"She thought you might say as much, so we are having the meeting here," he said, getting the door more open that he could come in. He watched as she shook her head again pushing back the wisps of her auburn hair from her eyes.

"Please no…" she said in an almost sob.

Marcus stopped the others from entering then closed the door for a moment. "It wasn't difficult for Mort and Jessica to figure out things, where the missing baby is, dear. They know. Please, just listen to what they have to say, alright?"

"I don't want to give her up, Marcus," she said, tears coming down freely.

"I know," he said softly, giving her a hug. "But, there are things you do need to know about her. You do trust me?" Artemis nodded.

He followed her into the living room where he saw Melody looking up, chewing her fist. Artemis bent down and picked her up, gathering the blanket at the same time. Turning, Marcus waved the others in, and then stood beside Artemis with his arm around her waist.

Mort walked up to them and gazed at the blue eyes that regarded him with curiosity.

"It's okay," he said gently. He smiled at Melody and reaching out, touched her downy reddish hair before holding out his arms for Artemis to surrender the child.

Marcus looked sadly at Jessica, then held Artemis as she tried very hard to be brave.

Melody's tiny fingers wrapped around Mort's as he sat down in the rocking chair with her. "Adele and I had thought about having kids. We just figured that it would be not a world that was safe enough for them while I worked in New York. Now, I don't know if the world is any safer. But, I think, with the proper people who really love a child enough to keep it from harm, good things will happen."

Stepping forward Jessica regarded Marcus. "You told me how hard it had been, watching what Artemis was going through trying to conceive a child, and how unwilling her husband had been to become a father. Perhaps that was what was so surprising to you when Brianna was found to be with child. But, it wasn't her child, was it?" she asked Marcus.

For the longest time he hung his head. "I should have said something, earlier. I had no idea what she did until later, and by then, it was too late." Sighing, he turned to Artemis. "Your husband had no intention of ever having children, with you, or any one else. I couldn't bear to see you heart broken, so I went and made - arrangements. Brianna knew about your trying to have children, and she went to the same facilities and paid them to say your treatments had failed.

"When the indictments came down, Dr. Webber was frantic to get as much money as he could for his defense, and Mrs. Shelby was just as frantic to have a child to collect the trust fund. He told Brianna that as the child's mother she could petition the courts for a stay of execution as the sole parent of the child, but you had thwarted that by having the court grant you custody. She wasn't about to give you her daughter, so, she sold it to the Shelby's. She never knew…" he said, falling silent for a moment. "She never knew that the baby she carried to term was yours, and my child."

Artemis pulled away from Marcus and sat down.

"The DNA tests that were run by the doctor's office confirm what is in Melody's medical file," Jessica said gently.

Mort wrinkled his nose as Melody had a strained expression on her face.

"Uh, I believe this one is for you…" he said standing up, handing the baby to Marcus and stepping back. He looked at Artemis. "Grady will be by in the morning to discuss financial matters regarding Melody, you will have to appear before the judge to finalize the paperwork for the name change to what ever you want…"

Artemis regarded Marcus who placed the baby on the sofa and was working the diaper pins with deft fingers.

"Melody was your mother's name," she said softly. Marcus nodded. She took a second breath. "Wouldn't be fair to her to grow up without a father…" she began. Tilting her head she raised an eyebrow at him. Marcus looked at Artemis for a moment until a slight kick from Mort brought him to his senses.

"No… it wouldn't be," he agreed.

Jessica snagged Mort's arm and pulled him from the room. "I think this one will have it's own happy ending, Mort," she said, grinning as she closed the patio door behind them.

_Epilogue_

"Well, it's huge," said Mort as he walked through the estate with Marcus.

Marcus nodded. "I had the very best inspectors come through and check everything out to make sure that it was safe. Much too much room just for three people though. Artemis was thrilled to convert the east wing to a research center for the plants. Odd thing about those documents that they were using to start the trust fund… wasn't just stocks in the box but other things as well. Artemis says she wants to go over the paper DNA before releasing them. She thinks she can locate the parent DNA from it to determine where the plants grew when it was first made." He led Mort to the balcony that over looked the garden where the ladies gathered. Balloons were tied to chairs and wild giggles of children could be heard echoing through the flower beds.

Mort regarded Marcus. "Everything ok?" he asked the older man.

Marcus sighed. "If I had asked her before, to marry me, none of this would have happened. Brianna would still be alive – Bess's parents..." he hung his head. Marcus shrugged. "Perhaps, but it's just a feeling, that this isn't the end of things."

Shaking his head Mort said gently, "Brianna would have still snapped. If she didn't take it out on Artemis's husband, she could have taken it out on Artemis. As for Bess's parents, I have a feeling that they would have ended up dead with as determined as Bess and James to get their hands on the money."

Mort grinned. "It never is." He said clapping Marcus on the back. "Come on, Artemis is almost done unwrapping the baby shower gifts and Mrs. F brought a brandied rhubarb and cherry pie for one of the desserts. Can't miss that," he said with a cheeky grin.

_The End (for now!)_

Yes, this is "The End" for this set. I do have one story in the work that I have sent off, had reviewed and have to tear it apart to get things better, I guess that will start the process all over again. If you have traveled this far, please read and review~ thanks for following these paths of mine.

Kath


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